


No Glory in the West

by maggneto, profoundalpacakitten, Talli



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Cowboys, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Steve Rogers, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Background Relationships, Period-Typical Homophobia, gratuitous sex under the stars, no serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggneto/pseuds/maggneto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten/pseuds/profoundalpacakitten, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talli/pseuds/Talli
Summary: “You know what I mean,” Bucky whispered, moving his thumb to stroke the smooth skin at the top of Steve’s cheek. “You know.”Steve licked his lips and shook his head again. “I—”“Do you want this, Steve?” Bucky asked, finally, decisively. His voice dropped low and his eyes were on fire and he said, “No one has to know.”*Texas. 1947. After returning from war, two weary, hardened cowboys accept a job herding cattle across the state. Three weeks alone together on the plains of west Texas bring unlikely solace between two men, inescapable longing, and an impossible decision to be made.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 156
Kudos: 283
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This author's note may be longer than the fic itself, but we have a lot to say!
> 
> talli: This was such an amazing collab together with mags and alpaca, I think we all had a really good time (despite, you know, the awful dread of having to actually *create* shit), there's been so many spiderman-pointing-at-spiderman moments djkfgjdhg
> 
> Thank you alpaca for the fun collab on the banner art, it was so amazing to see how our styles worked together!!  
> Thank you mags for writing this fic for me, specifically. Like, I know you've been writing this since long before the bang started but damn, I basically sat here like: "is for me??" with every new chapter. You've seen my excited/hornie/heartbroken/happy reactions in the abundance of gdocs comments. I'm just (snif)  
> And thank you to the NASBB mods for successfully organizing this bang (during this time!!!) and making this collab possible! ♥
> 
> alpaca: shit, what can I say? mag is fantastic, a very cool person, and I had sixty thousand ideas just from reading the first chapter? Yeah, absolutely. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to do art for mag, to do art _with_ talli, collaborate truly on it, it was... fantastic. A great experience. I still have so much more in store for those boys once I get some more time. Thank you both and I hope you readers enjoy this brilliant piece of writing <3
> 
> maggneto: First I want to say a HUGE thank you to my incredible artists Alpaca and talli, who provided more support, love, and hilarious comments than I ever deserved. They were both incredibly supportive of my terrible time management and this fic simply would not exist without them. Their art captures the story better than I could've ever imagined and they were the perfect collab partners. The incredibly suspenseful art reveals were my favorite touch, personally. 
> 
> To my beta, Cora, thank you for your unending support, for your priceless smut writing knowledge, for teaching me how to use a comma (over and over again), and for listening to me agonize over this fic day and night. You have improved it beyond belief and I am lucky to call you a friend. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you to the mods for your tireless work to bring this Bang to life. It was no easy task and we are endlessly grateful. 
> 
> **Content Warning:** This story follows two queer men in 1940's Texas. As such, there are words and ideas expressed that might be harmful to members of the LGBT community. I will warn at the beginning of each chapter with sensitive topics but just know that the general attitude of homophobia of the time is present throughout the story. Please message me if you have any concerns or would like any tags added but above all, take care of yourselves. Just to assuage any fears, this is a happy story with a happy ending. 
> 
> One More Note: I've done extensive research for this story but unfortunately, I have never gone on a cattle drive in Texas in 1947. Therefore, there will be an abundance of errors, for which I apologize. If there are any glaring inaccuracies feel free to comment or message me on twitter. Otherwise, let's all just rely on that suspension of disbelief for the next eight chapters. 
> 
> You can find us on twitter at the following links: [maggneto](https://twitter.com/maggneto_), [Alpaca](https://twitter.com/AlpacaKittens), and [talli](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo)
> 
> The title is from the song of the same name by Orville Peck. His entire discography inspired this story from start to finish and I would highly recommend it as you read along. At the very least, give No Glory in the West and Summertime a listen. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

_what's a boy to do?_

_hit the road with a dollar or two_

_haunted by what he knows he can't do_

_gets it off his chest_

_'cause there ain't no glory in the west_

**_Preface_ **

Storms in Texas are visceral, tangible things. Ever since he was a child, Bucky Barnes had been plagued with an innate, indescribable fear of them. Deep set instincts he didn’t know he had would kick into place at the first hint of a storm. His body felt the pressure change before his mind could catch up. Animals around him would set into a frenzied chaos, set alight with the knowledge that something was coming, that things were changing.

The sky would shift so suddenly it was almost imperceptible; it would morph into a dark, unnatural shade layered with grays and deep blues that were as beautiful as they were ominous. The green of the trees and the deep yellow-gold of the plains stood out starkly against the horizon. The wind, which was there just moments ago as a soothing breeze, picked up speed to shift the tops of the trees and the long grass that brushed his ankles where he stood. He could smell it in the air.

Something was about to happen. And it was completely out of his control. Something was about to happen and he was powerless to stop it.

There were times in his life that brought such powerful, inalterable change that looking back, he realized he felt it coming. The storm.

The barometric pressure changed, the wind shifted, the sky changed hues the day that Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers. 

Looking back, Bucky should’ve known his life wouldn’t go back to the way it was. A man doesn’t walk away from someone like Steve Rogers unscathed. Steve didn’t mean to, of course. He didn’t intentionally reach his dirty hand inside Bucky’s chest, root around inside his soul and muck everything up. It was just the way he was. Steve Rogers was a force of nature and there was just no stopping him.

The truth was, Bucky was bound to meet someone like Steve one day. Someone that would shatter all previous notions of love, gamble with his heart like it was their last dollar, and then walk away unbothered. The truth was, no matter how it ended, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were in love. But sometimes love isn’t built to last and sometimes a person isn’t built for love.

This is a love story. Twenty-one days start to finish. Shorter than it takes the earth to shift from summer to fall. But not all love stories have happy endings.

———

**_Chapter One_ **

Steve gripped the edge of the truck bed, scorching hot in the unforgiving afternoon sun. For Steve, the past 30 minutes had been spent deciding between burning his hand on the reflective metal or bustin’ his ass as he slid around the bed, jostled this way and that as the truck sped down the dirt road. He couldn’t complain, though. A free ride was a free ride. Especially when he needed to get clear across town and had missed his wake up call that morning, which would’ve given him enough time to walk to his new job. But that’s what happened when he stayed up all night singing his cares away to the open end of a whiskey bottle, he supposed. 

He wasn’t usually this careless with his employment. He was a hard worker, without question. But last night he had come in from the fields to find that the new farmhand had stolen a few dollars from the tin beneath his bed before taking off to the next town. Steve knew people were bad off after the war, especially guys like him with no family and no prospects but still, it irked him. He didn’t want to make a fuss since it was his last day on the ranch and these people had been good to him so he took his dinner in his room and headed to town for the night. 

He found a sweet lookin’ fella behind Josie’s—a seedy bar with just the right kind of people—and took him back to the ranch. They snuck off to the old barn that was no longer used and he sucked the kid off, slow and sweet. Once he finished, the kid took one look at him, rising from his knees and leaning in for another kiss and realized what they had done. He got spooked and ran, leaving Steve to finish himself off, bitter and alone. 

So Steve had decided to drown his sorrows in one the cheap whiskey bottles he had picked up in Odessa. Not his finest moment, to be sure. But by the grace of god himself, Colonel Rhodes—a man Steve had done some work for in the past—had seen Steve chargin’ through town and offered to give him a ride. Steve graciously accepted and nestled himself among the bails of hay in the back of the truck.

Steve shouted his thanks and sent Colonel Rhodes a wave as he shouldered his pack and started down the long dirt road towards the ranch. He crossed the dilapidated old fence and the cacti growing along the road. The house sat huge and sprawling across the flat plains. It was an old but steady thing—like it had sat in this spot for centuries. The buildings were white and topped with deep orange shingles and Steve could see cattle roaming in the distance. Massive, sprawling live oak trees framed the main homestead, layered with moss and deep green leaves. 

The air was hot and heavy as ever but a pleasant breeze blew through the leaves of the enormous tree and around its steady base. Bucky rested his head against the trunk and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun dance across his face through the swaying leaves. 

Bucky’s father always said if you ain't early, you're late. He didn't typically go out of his way to follow his parents’ advice but this was something he just couldn't shake. If he had somewhere to be, you could bet he'd be early. He'd arrived at the ranch almost an hour early, lugging his small pack of belongings from the back of his pa’s truck without a word. 

The ranch was bustling with all kinds of folks—kids playing in the dirt under the shade of a magnolia tree, farm hands headin’ to the main house for a break after starting their day well before dawn, delivery men picking up produce to take to market—and Bucky let the cacophony of daily life wash over him with ease. He had pretty quickly found a rancher in the back of the house who had told him to take it easy while they finished rounding up the cattle that were headed out for sale. Bucky's gut twisted when he noticed the man eyeing where his left arm should've been. He nodded curtly and quickly found his spot under the tree. 

There were only a few dozen or so cattle on this drive—much less than the great drives around the turn of the century that could transfer hundreds of cattle across the state—so Bucky would have only one other man on the job. It was a short journey, as well—only three weeks start to finish. Bucky was used to spending months on the trail, accompanied by 10 or 12 other men and a wagon to carry all the supplies they'd need. For this trip, everything they'd need would have to fit on their horses’ backs. 

It was a tougher job to be sure, but one Bucky enjoyed. He felt stifled with so many people around, always suspicious that they watched and analyzed his every move. He sought out the comfort of the wide open plains for the emptiness and the peace and quiet, and that was often disturbed with so many rowdy, overexcitable young men around. 

Bucky felt a kick against the sole of his boot and he slid back the Stetson hat that had fallen over his eyes to gaze at whoever had disturbed him. It was the ranch hand from earlier, the one with wandering eyes and the steely glare. His cheeks bulged from the amount of dip he was chewing and he nodded his head in the direction of the cattle pen. “Let's go.”

Bucky recognized the owner before they rounded the enormous cattle pen. He had a way about him, stood with an air of gruffness and superiority. He was large and stout, with a greying mustache on his face and a wide brim hat on his head. His clothes were pressed and pristine, well beyond his days of manual labor and proud to show it. He eyed Bucky with apathy and a hint of disdain. A man with more money than god, who could do with it what he pleased. 

The man nodded his head, tipping his hat. “Howdy.”

“Sir,” Bucky responded, leaning in to shake the man’s hand firmly. 

“Where's your partner?” He asked gruffly. 

“Sir?”

“The man you'll be ridin’ with.”

Bucky glanced at the other men around him with a look of confusion. “Never met him so… couldn’t tell ya,” Bucky admitted with a shrug. 

The rancher looked annoyed, shifting from one foot to the other with a heavy sigh. “You expect to do this job by yourself, son?” He asked, eyeing Bucky’s left shoulder pointedly. 

“No, sir but I wasn’t aware I was meant to keep track of this man myself.”

The rancher’s eyebrows rose. “You gettin’ smart with me, boy?”

“No sir—”

Bucky was cut off by one of the ranch hands pointing to the space behind Bucky. “Sir,” he said, “think that’s him.”

Bucky turned to see a man sauntering towards them, a Stetson perched precariously on his head and a pack slung over his shoulder. He walked with an easy smile and not even a hint of hurry in his steps. He wore dark denim jeans and a shirt buttoned halfway up that had surely seen better days. His boots, however, were polished and scuff-free, shining bright in the Texas sun. The bit of chest that could be seen was tanned and spattered with dark brown hair. His shoulders were wide and his strength was visible even from ten yards out.

Bucky eyed him up and down with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. 

The man stepped up to the group and tipped his hat in greeting. “Howdy,” he said with a grin, his eyes squinted in the bright sun. 

“Steve Rogers,” the rancher said with the slightest nod. “Awful kind of you to join us.”

The man ignored the clear disdain in the rancher’s voice and responded, “Thank you sir, happy to be here.”

“James Barnes was just tellin’ us how he was just as happy to do this job by himself,” the owner said, gesturing to Bucky with a mocking grin.

Steve finally took the chance to look at the man standing next to him—James, apparently. He was about the same height as Steve with a muscular frame and the sharpest jawline Steve had ever seen. His dark brown hair was short and curled at the ends. His eyelashes were long and dark and framed fantastically bright blue-grey eyes. He was beautiful. His face was clean shaven, his lips were pink and full, and his cheeks were tinged red from the sun. His shoulders were broad and full and—oh—he only had one arm. Steve shifted his gaze back to Bucky’s eyes—an easy spot to land—and slapped a hand on Bucky’s back. 

“Aw come on, James, we’ve only just met. Give me a chance.” He said it with a grin and a tilt of his head, putting on a show for the other men, but there was a glint in his eyes, something in the shape of his smile that shot straight to Bucky’s core.

Bucky cleared his throat and straightened his back before responding sharply, “Never wanted to go it alone. Mr. Nelson here was just wonderin’ why my partner was late.”

“I’m real sorry about that Mr. Nelson,” Steve added quickly, turning towards the owner and running a hand through his beard. “One of our mares was foalin’ last night, see, and I was up all night with her.”

Mr. Nelson nodded, clearly growing tired of this conversation. “See that it doesn’t happen again.” He turned toward the cattle pen and got started with their instructions. 

———

By the time the boys were saddled up and on the move, the sun was high and the heat had set in. They made it to the trail easily enough, moving and adjusting the herd with quick sprints of their horses that returned any outliers back to the pack.

Mr. Nelson had provided them with the food and supplies they would need for the three week journey along with two cattle dogs and the horses they rode. The dogs were fast and sharp, two blue heelers named Jesse and James who weren’t afraid to run right into the thick of it. Steve had chosen Bandit, a buckskin quarter horse with a light brown coat and a beautiful brown mane. That had left Bucky with a sweet Appaloosa named Rio, chestnut brown with white spots, who warmed to Bucky immediately.

The horses and dogs were being sold along with the cattle so the plan was to leave them in Abilene and hitch a ride or catch a train back to Alpine.

The trail began smooth and straight and the cattle were bred to follow one another so Steve and Bucky were able to fall back and trot slowly behind the herd, letting the dogs stay close and nudge the cows along.

“So where ya from James?” Steve asked, sidlin’ up next to Bucky's horse. Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Steve’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms were taut where he held the reins. Bucky took a steadying breath. 

“Up north.”

Steve broke into another one of his grins. “A yankee, huh? I knew there was somethin’ funny about you.”

“You don't know shit about me,” Bucky shot back, tightening his hand on the rein. 

Steve put his hands up placatingly. “Woah, now! Don't get your britches in a bunch. I'm from up north too. Where abouts you from?”

Bucky sighed. “New York.”

“No shit? Me too. Which borough?”

“Brooklyn.”

Steve smiled at him again. “I think you and I are gonna be pals, James Barnes.” Steve's face was darkened under the shade of his hat but Bucky knew he was sincere. His eyes broke away, back to the herd marching steadily in front of him. “Don't remember much about it, of course,” Steve continued. “Moved here when I was a child. Texas is all I've ever known.”

Bucky nodded, choosing not to reveal all the things they had in common. He could see Steve gazing at him out of the corner of his eye but he ignored it. Suddenly he saw a blur of movement over Steve's shoulder. “You've got one,” he said, pointing to the steer falling away from the herd, veering to the right and speeding up. 

Steve caught on quick and yanked the reins of his horse, kicking its flank and shouting loud and sharp. His horse responded, bolting down the side of the pasture to cut the steer off in its path. It followed his urging, begrudgingly rejoining the herd. 

Soon enough though, Steve made his way back to Bucky's side. He was intrigued by Bucky. Attracted, obviously—he wasn't blind—but this quiet, puzzling man intrigued him. 

Steve had a knack for charming people. He also had a knack for annoying the shit out of them, but he could charm if he wanted to. He was good at getting people to talk, to open up to him and this man was eluding him. It irked him. 

“James,” Steve said wistfully, testing out the way it felt on his tongue. “James, James, James. Can I call you Jamie? I worked with a fella named Jamie once. Bit of a womanly name but damn if he couldn't charm the ladies. Ugly as sin too, but he could charm ‘em.”

 _Lord, but this man can talk,_ Bucky thought to himself. 

“Bucky.”

“Pardon?” Steve replied, dumbstruck. 

“You can call me Bucky.”

Now this had truly confounded Steve. “I ain't a scholar or nothin' but how do you get Bucky out of James?” 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone just calls me Bucky.”

“Huh,” Steve said thoughtfully. He liked it but the name certainly didn't match the demeanor. “Not Buck?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head. “My little sister—Ruthie—she liked to call me Bucky. It stuck.” 

Well damn if that wasn't the cutest thing Steve had heard all day. 

“Huh. Bucky,” Steve said slowly, testing it out. “I like it,” he added with a wicked grin. 

They were passing through a narrow clearing and the horses had slowed to a leisurely walk. Bucky fiddled with his reins, wrapping and unwrapping them around his hand. Steve watched his fingers, long and slender, weave through the reins. He itched to connect them with his own. 

Bucky spoke, suddenly (finally), and Steve snapped to attention, moving his gaze to Bucky's eyes. “Steve, right?” 

“That's me.”

“I think this'll go best if we just focus on doing our jobs, you know? Keep the cattle in line, stay on the trail. Get it done.” He nodded at Steve, looking for agreement and Steve gave it to him. 

“Sure thing, Bucky.” He gave Bucky a mock salute and fixed his eyes resolutely on the path in front of him. This man lit a fire inside of Steve, one he would try and tamp down for Bucky's sake, but it wouldn't be easy. 

They rode on. 

They passed through the remainder of the rancher’s property and continued on through the plains, following the trail north. A breeze had found them and alleviated the oppressive heat but still Bucky would not speak. Steve couldn't help himself. 

“Like the president?” He blurted. 

Bucky gave him a look of bewilderment and Steve couldn’t blame him. 

“James Buchanan. I knew I'd heard that from somewhere. We had a president called James Buchanan,” Steve explained. 

Bucky shook his head. “No. It's just a family name.”

“Ah. Just as well. He didn't do shit.”

Steve saw the first hint of a smile beneath Bucky's bright white hat and he couldn't stop the sudden burst of optimism inside of him, small but insistent. He would crack this man, one way or another. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes art from the amazing ProfoundAlpacaKittens

Steve knew for certain he liked men the summer he turned 15. It was late September and the crippling heat was holding on with all its might. The town had a new veterinarian and with him came his son, Miguel. An influenza of some sort was making its way through the cattle that season so the doc was out at the ranch fairly often, which usually meant Miguel tagged along. 

Steve and Miguel had their run of the property once their chores were done and they made great use of their time by sneaking half-empty bottles of liquor from the pantry and drinking them out by the pond on the back forty. They would each get only a couple sips at most, but they would clink their glasses together and double over in fits of laughter, high on each other and the mere possibility of being drunk. 

Miguel had smooth olive skin and dark brown hair that curled up on the ends and flopped over his forehead in a way that was nothing short of mesmerizing. His eyes were a deep brown and freckles dotted his cheeks as if they were drawn there by a steady hand. He was wicked smart and his smile was as bright as any Steve had seen. Steve was enthralled. 

He didn’t have a word for the way he felt about Miguel—the word ‘queer’ would be thrown at him with hatred and vitriol soon enough—but Steve knew how he felt. He knew he wanted to spend his days with Miguel, wanted to run his fingers over the palm of his hand, wanted to sit so close that he got a whiff of the way he smelled each time the breeze rolled through. Steve knew this was not how most boys felt about other boys, but Miguel never shied away from his attention. He welcomed it.

They first kissed on a Wednesday. And on that Sunday, Steve's mother died. 

The doctor told him it was one of the most advanced cases of pneumonia he'd ever seen and that there was nothing anyone could've done. She didn't even feel poorly until Thursday evening, _so don’t feel too badly, son_. As if that consoled him. As if his inability to help was meant to calm his shaking hands and aching bones. 

Steve forgot most of the events of the week that changed his life. He reckoned his brain was just doing its best to protect him. He pictured it boarding up the windows of his mind, barring the doors and curling in on itself. Keeping any further harm from coming to him. 

The one thing he always remembered—the thing he dreamed of, woke up thinking about—was the feeling of holding his mother's hand. Cold, clammy and pale as cloth. How different it felt from holding Miguel’s—warm and soft and sure. He tormented himself trying to remember the look on her face or the last words she spoke to him but they never came. What was there—what was always there, when he wanted it and when he begged it to leave him be—was the feeling of her hand in his and the way he had let it go. 

So he sought comfort in Miguel. He held Miguel as tight as he wished he had held his mother, but he didn’t know that he couldn’t replace one love with another. So when Miguel finally left—when his father took a job in another state—Steve spiraled. The solace he sought was brief and tenuous at best. He held on, with shaky arms and a fragile heart, to boys from the next town over who couldn’t spare a second glance once the night was through. Labored breaths and hollow comfort. Sweaty hips and hurried thrusts from men with cruel words in the light of day. His heart was hardened over the years from pseudo-love, replacement-love, shitty imitations of the real thing. 

Over time he expected less from these encounters. Sought out less connection and more physical pleasure to satisfy his needs, his desire for the touch of another, for the feeling of strong hands holding him a little too tight. He didn't expect these men to remember his name or the way he liked his coffee in the morning. He expected them to make him feel good for the night and not stick around for the sunrise. He expected them to walk away remembering the way he moaned their name and the way his legs felt wrapped around their hips. And they did. And he was satisfied. 

But still it followed him. The feeling of her hand in his. Like a burr stuck to the seat of your trousers, like fleas on a dog’s back, he couldn’t shake it. He often dreamt of storms on the horizon. He was out in the pasture and could see the clouds headed towards him. His mother was inside, cold and clammy and pale and the storm was coming. The skies would darken and the animals would run wild and there was nothing he could do. No one would listen to him or pay him any mind. He would scream himself hoarse trying to get everyone to shelter but they never listened. He would just wake up shivering cold, jaw clenched, fists balled, ready to run. 

That’s how he awoke the morning of the drive. Jaw clenched, fists balled, ready to run. Oddly enough, it was the only thing that got him to the ranch on time. He could’ve slept the whole day through with the hangover he had but his mind chose to wake him with thoughts of an oncoming storm and the death of this mother. 

Steve shook the dream from his mind and concentrated his efforts on keeping the cattle in line. They had finally reached the open plains and he and Bucky were exhausted after a day of keeping the herd on the trail. Shouting and whistling loud and high, they had sprinted up and down the line of cattle on the backs of their horses, chasing stragglers and keeping the herd moving in the right direction. They would soon find a spot to camp for the night and Steve’s bones ached at the thought of a warm meal and rest by the fire.

Steve’s gaze shifted, as it had grown accustomed to doing, over to Bucky. He hadn’t shown even a hint of fatigue all day, even as Steve’s legs had grown sore and his breath had become strained under the oppressive heat. Bucky had stopped only to wipe the sweat from his brow and take a quick drink from his canteen before continuing on. Steve was both incredulous and envious. 

The truth was the sun and the heat had been just as cruel to Bucky, he just refused to show it. He’d had plenty of folks discount his work on his appearance alone since his return from France and he was damn near tired of it. If he had to work twice as hard as his counterparts to prove his worth, that’s what he would do. Steve, on the other hand, was having a rough time and didn’t mind showin’ it.

Steve was a hard worker, that was clear. He rode well and was smart about the way he led the herd. He could lead without question but he listened when Bucky had something to say. He never asked for a break, but he had no problem airing his grievances aloud and if Bucky had to hear about this damn oppressive heat one more time, he was going to flip his lid.

Steve liked to talk, that much was clear. Bucky would be hard pressed to find the peace and quiet he usually sought from the open trail on this particular job. Each hill they crossed, each plain they marched through, he searched for a reprieve but he never found it. Steve always had something to say. The part that ached him the most, though, was that he really didn’t hate what Steve had to say at all.

Between his gripes about the heat and his insistence that his ass had gone numb on the saddle, Steve told stories of his life on the ranch and cracked jokes till he was red in the face. By the time they stopped for lunch, Bucky learned that Steve had quite a penchant for getting himself into fights. There was a scrap over unequal wages and the time he sucker punched a guy for tryin’ to lift a girl’s skirt. He told Bucky all about the deep piles of shit he got himself into (figuratively and literally—he was once pushed into a pile of manure for some misplaced insult) and laughed them off, easy as anything.

Through it all, his smile never wavered, his eyes never stopped shining and Bucky never stopped watching. He would gesture wildly throughout his stories, holding onto his hat so that it didn’t fall off, so caught up in the life of the story that he often forgot where they were and what they were doing and Bucky, despite himself, was captured. Through sheer force of will he charmed the hell out of one Bucky Barnes.

Bucky gave no mention or suggestion of this fact, mind you. He watched Steve with a cautious, penetrating gaze. He knew that this man was trying to get him to loosen up, to enjoy their time together but he wouldn’t allow it. Bucky wasn’t someone who made friends, especially with men like Steve. So he nodded politely, allowed a few clipped laughs at the right moments, and placated Steve as best he could.

He hadn’t always been like this and he accepted that fact bitterly. Before the war—before his life was irrevocably altered in more ways than one—he used to have no trouble making conversations or keeping friends. He used to be quite the charmer, as a matter of fact. Bucky used to go to market with his father to sell their crops after each harvest. He looked forward to it every year—seeing old friends, catching up after months apart, haggling over prices. Now he struggled to go to the grocer’s by himself.

It was the looks—always the looks people gave him. The way their eyes would be immediately drawn to his left shoulder, a stump hidden in pinned cloth. A beacon of everything he had lost and everything they thought he couldn’t do. It was the way they hesitated, paused for just a moment too long, before slapping on fake smiles and visibly forcing themselves not to ask questions. Some did, of course, but most already knew. It was a remarkably small town and word traveled fast.

The only place that word didn’t travel at all was on the open range. The cattle didn’t stare at the place where his arm should’ve been. The horses didn’t treat him any differently than they did before he shipped off to that God-forsaken continent. The open plains and the winding canyons and the enormous, never-ending sky above him didn’t care that he couldn’t string two words together. It shifted as it did everyday from blue to purple to orange to red—oblivious and everlasting.

The only thing interrupting that everlasting greatness, of course, was Steve Rogers.

Eventually, and remarkably without incident, they made it to the spot they were meant to camp for the night. Bucky rounded the cattle as best he could while Steve worked to set up camp. By the time he was sitting by the fire with a hot meal in front of him, he could see Steve was itchin’ to talk.

Bucky said nothing.

The sun was making its way below the horizon but a dim glow of light remained and the fire crackled between them, bright and warm. The two men sat on stumps and rotting logs, left behind by the countless number of cowboys that had walked this trail before them. Bucky took a deep breath of the clear fresh air that surrounded him. The smoke of the fire tickled the edges of his nose and he settled in contentment.

“I think today went fairly well,” Steve said conversationally.

Bucky stirred the soupy mixture of pork and beans in the small metal bowl he held in his hand, nodding his head in agreement. “Yep.”

“Didn’t think we’d make it this far the first day, if I’m honest,” Steve added. Bucky nodded, wordless. “But it’s a good herd so I suppose it ain’t all that surprising.” Steve scratched at his beard compulsively while Bucky just stared down at his food. He spared a quick glance at Steve across the fire. His expression was blank as he stared off into the vast darkness, perhaps looking for a better conversationalist.

“Decent horses we got,” Steve said, gesturing to where they were tied up and resting next to a tree.

“Damn fine horses,” Bucky mumbled, despite himself. It had taken no time at all for Bucky to fall in love with those horses.

Steve looked up, a glint in his eyes and the beginnings of a crooked smile making its way onto his face. “That’s right.”

They ate in silence for a while, accompanied by the scrape of spoon against metal and the crackle of the fire. 

“So,” Steve said, clearly testing the waters. Bucky braced himself. “What do you do, Buck?”

It was an innocent enough question, but one Bucky wasn't interested in answering. Come to think of it though, there weren't many questions Bucky was keen on answering. 

“Work on my mother and father’s farm, mostly,” he said finally. “Try to jump on a drive now and then.”

“You prefer it out here where you can breathe?”

Bucky looked at Steve thoughtfully, surprised by his perceptiveness. “That's right. I prefer to be on my own.”

Steve considered that for a moment without looking away. His eyes were piercing, lit by the glow of the fire. The bright blue was noticeable even from this distance. “I understand. What kind of crops does your family tend to?”

“Wheat and sorghum mostly. Little bit of cotton,” Bucky responded, scraping the bottom of his bowl. “Not much else to grow out here with it being so damn dry.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “Surprised you don't raise any livestock.”

“We have a few hogs,” Bucky said, nodding his head, “and chickens of course. We could barely afford the land when we moved out here. Buying up cattle was out of the question.” Bucky grabbed his pack filled with clothes and personal items and situated it behind his back as he laid down on the hard ground. He reclined against it, wiggling around to get comfortable before throwing a saddle blanket over himself. When he looked up, he found Steve’s eyes still on him. Steve looked away quickly and cleared his throat before taking a sip of water from his canteen.

“My father had dreams of startin’ a great big cattle ranch,” Steve said wistfully. “He thought he was gonna be the biggest rancher in Texas. Might’ve been too, if the war hadn’t grabbed him up and spit him out.” Bucky said nothing, too intimately aware of the nature of war to need to ask any questions. “He died overseas,” Steve supplied. “I was barely a year old. Ma had to sell the land and all the cattle. Couldn’t keep up with it herself and I don’t blame her.” He rubbed a hand through his beard, staring passively at the fire in front of him. “Just a shame.”

“I’m real sorry about that, Steve,” Bucky said sincerely.

Steve stared at the fire for a moment longer, his mind clearly somewhere miles away before snapping out of it and looking at Bucky with his signature grin. “Oh, it’s alright Buck. That’s life. Ma and I moved to another ranch shortly after. She worked as a housekeeper and they let us live on the grounds. Not a bad childhood, after all.”

Bucky hummed in contemplation, pulling the blanket closer underneath his chin and propping his arm behind his head. The sun had set and the heat had finally abandoned them, lying in wait until it could assault them the next morning. “Must’ve been a hell of a place to grow up,” Bucky said, thinking of the great sprawling hills and miles of plains of every ranch in Texas.

“Oh, it was,” Steve said through a smile, staring off into the distance yet again. “Ma said I could ride a horse before I could walk,” he let out a laugh before glancing at Bucky. “Now I don’t know about that but I sure did get to know the animals.”

“I imagine you did,” Bucky said, grinning now. “I bet it never got boring with all those folks around.”

Steve shrugged. “The rancher’s kids were grown by the time I could remember so I didn’t have many friends my own age. I mostly spent my time chasin’ after the cowboys, tryin’ to be just like ‘em,” Steve said with a soft smile. “They’d probably tell you they couldn’t get me out from under their feet but I learned a lot.”

Bucky considered the man in front of him. Steve may have been long-winded and an over-sharer to boot but Bucky could see the lonely kid that was inside. A lonely kid who just wanted to belong.

“What about you—any siblings?” Steve asked.

Bucky snapped out of his reverie and looked away from where his eyes had landed on Steve’s chest, visible where Steve had unbuttoned his shirt. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, two baby sisters. Rebecca and Ruthie.”

Steve grinned. “I don’t envy you there,” he said light heartedly.

Bucky laughed, quiet and quick. “Nah, they were much better behaved than I was. Plus they learned a hell of a lot more about farmin’ and livestock than I did about cooking and cleaning.” Bucky smiled thinking of his sisters. They exceeded him in every measure and he couldn’t be prouder.

“Sounds like they’d leave me in their dust if we went toe to toe,” Steve suggested.

“Oh _absolutely_ pal,” Bucky shot back, “you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Steve laughed, loud and sure. Bucky’s eyes were drawn to his bright pink lips and shining white teeth. The laugh found its way straight through to Bucky’s chest and he couldn’t help but smile along. “Hell, Bucky you don’t got much faith in me yet, do you?”

Bucky’s smile never faltered. “Well you’ve just gotta prove yourself to me.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and his smile widened. “Is that right?”

Bucky’s stomach flipped and he felt something move within him. He tried and failed to temper his smile. “Mhmm.”

Steve was pleased by his response, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his beard. “Alright then,” he said with confidence. “I can do that.”

Bucky shook his head and looked up at the stars above him, putting his smile away for later. “We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t turn his head when he heard Steve hum quietly, he just continued to stare at the sky, counting the stars he could see and willing the trembling in his chest to leave him be. He convinced himself the warmth in his gut was just a product of the fire burning next to him and settled in to go to sleep. Steve was on first watch tonight and Bucky couldn’t waste any of the precious little time he had to rest. His breathing slowed and eventually he relaxed, thinking of his sisters back home and bright blue eyes lit up by flames.

As Bucky fell further into sleep, his lips relaxed into a soft pout and his eyelashes twitched against his cheeks and Steve itched to just reach out and _touch._ This man—with his sharp jaw, his broad shoulders, and that sugar-sweet smile—he was bound to drive Steve crazy. His quiet nature had lured Steve in, captivated his interest like an exquisite piece of art.

He was well and truly gone on this man and it only meant trouble. 

He should’ve ignored Bucky. He should’ve turned around and kept an eye on the cattle like he was supposed to be doing. He should’ve ignored Bucky and the way he constantly pulled him in, but he didn’t. Instead, Steve reached into his pack and brought out his old, worn-down journal, filled to the brim with sketches and notes and all the details of his life. He ignored his better instincts and dug out his drawing pencils. He scooted closer in the dirt and set out to sketch the soft, delicate face in front of him. 

The night grew cooler, the fire turned to ash and Steve used what little light he had left to commit this face, this elusive boy to memory. At least he would have him there. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes brief descriptions of war

Bucky had a girl once. 

Well, Bucky had lots of girls but only one that was serious enough to make him consider buying a ring and thinking beyond the rolling hills of his parents’ farm. Irene was her name and she was a firecracker. Bright green eyes and dark red hair the color of a magnificent sunset. She could knock any man off his feet and Bucky was no exception. They met at the dance hall in the basement of Wilson’s—a dining hall that at night turned into the only bar in town. Bucky liked to sneak out late Friday night and dance well into Saturday morning, until his face was red and his feet were covered in blisters. 

Every kid close enough to walk or lucky enough to find a ride would show up to Wilson’s. It was the only place in a near hundred mile radius that played anything other than the honky-tonk western music that their parents loved. Wilson’s played music they could dance to—swing and jazz, Sinatra and Presley. Big city music from a world so far away and so different from their own. 

Bucky wasn’t there for a drink or an easy pick-up he could take home. He was there to dance. He wasn’t picky about his partner, he passed girls back and forth with ease, a bright smile never leaving his face. He moved along to the music, twirling the girls until they were breathless with delight, forever mesmerized by their bouncing curls and spinning skirts. Sometimes they would steal a kiss and a rosy red blush would find its way onto his cheeks for the rest of the night. He shared the occasional cigarette out back with the boys from the next town over and he would laugh until his stomach ached, transfixed by their bright eyes and cheeky grins. Bucky never felt more alive than he did on a Friday night at Wilson’s. 

After his first dance with Irene, he never let her go. She was fearless and bold and Bucky was a goner. He started to sneak off before his chores were done or bribe Ruthie with sweets to finish them for him. He would use any excuse he could find to visit Irene on her parent’s farm—fixing the motor in her family’s tractor or bringing his mother’s fresh peaches to share—so that the two of them could plot and scheme their way out of responsibilities for the rest of the night. 

Irene could come up with a lie faster than anyone he knew. She would smile wickedly at him before dragging him inside to tell her parents of the awful spot his mother was in with Bucky’s family coming to visit and how much help she needed preparing the house for their arrival. Bucky had no relatives to speak of, much less pay them a visit, but he nodded along each time Irene pinched his hip insistently. She would then lead him to one of her favorite spots around town like the back room of the hair salon where they played cards for real money or the basement of the local college where writers and poets would talk about ideas so big Bucky struggled to wrap his head around them. Sometimes they would drive to the dance hall three towns over where they watched people move on stage in skimpier clothes than any he had ever seen. 

Irene would go barreling off into the unknown and Bucky would follow, spellbound and mesmerized. Her wit fascinated him and her fearless nature thrilled and terrified him. He thought maybe they could build something together, that they could be together in the way that everyone wanted them to be. He reckoned the desire to take her to bed would come later, as they grew closer. He’d never been with a woman before and figured the dizzying passion everyone spoke of would find him eventually. But it never did. 

They were together almost a year, to the delight of both his parents and hers. The day he went looking for a ring was the day he got drafted.

They both promised they would wait—swore on it and sealed it with a kiss—but war was hell and letters didn’t always make it across the front line. By the time Bucky found himself in a blown out building in the middle of France, crouching in the corner to keep warm after three straight days of airstrikes, he was sure he would never hear from Irene again. He realized he hadn’t heard from her in eight weeks or so and hadn’t thought of her in just as long. Bucky knew she had moved on, same as him, and though it ached him to think of her with another, it would be better for her. Bucky wasn’t sure how he could possibly care for her after this. He could hardly care for himself. But at least he had Colin to comfort him. 

Bucky had done well in the army, against all of his preconceived notions, and had quickly risen to the rank of sergeant. During times of self-pity he wondered if perhaps the army just needed a sudden influx of sergeants and since he could at least walk while carrying a rifle, the lieutenants and colonels had decided that was enough. Either way, he now had a platoon of men in his charge, and Colin was one of them. Young and sweet, with wisdom well beyond his years, Colin was the soul of their small group. He came from a small town in the midwest full of nothing but corn and cows but he had a sharp wit and a penchant for wisecracks. He lifted spirits and eased the feeling of loneliness that permeated the air around them and, sure as anything, Bucky had a soft spot for him.

He sat next to Colin any chance he got. He scheduled patrols so that they could walk together and he could listen to Colin talk about his life before the war. Colin grinned like a fool every time Bucky spoke with his exaggerated southern drawl and they entertained each other with stories and jokes from their youth. 

Bucky found himself watching Colin, perhaps more often than he should. He knew the reputation this could give him and the consequences that came with it, but he didn’t seem to care. Whether his platoon was huddled together around a campfire, marching through the rolling green hills of the French countryside, or barricaded behind trenches, Bucky searched for Colins’ face. Tanned skin, sandy blonde hair, and penetrating blue eyes. Stubble on his cheeks and a quiet laugh. Bucky didn’t know why he felt so calm while he was sitting next to Colin. He didn’t know why he thought about Colin more than he ever thought about Irene. And he didn’t know why he didn’t protest when Colin shoved him up against a tree and put his cold, chapped lips on his. 

Bucky wasn’t sure how many times he met Colin after dark, behind the barracks or in a secluded spot in the woods. Time runs slower during war and events get twisted and mangled beyond recognition. But he remembered clearly the first time he stroked Colin beneath his shorts, felt the warm hardness there and the lust that ignited inside of him. He remembered breathing into Colin’s mouth as he shuddered and came, strong arms wrapped around him, squeezing so tight, as if they could hold him together by sheer force of will. He remembered holding onto Colin’s broad chest as he pushed inside him from behind, enveloped in a warmth he would never experience again. 

Bucky wasn’t sure of much but he knew that whatever love he felt for Colin was ripped away, snuffed out along with every other drop of warmth inside of him the day the explosion took his left arm.

It took three days in a dingy hospital in London for Bucky to receive all of the letters from Irene that had never reached him. It took him another seven to gather up the courage to read them. And it took one small _“No”_ to Irene’s “ _Were you faithful?_ ” to end anything they could've had. 

The third night on the trail, Bucky was awoken by a soft but insistent shake of his shoulder, the smell of fire and ash fresh in his nose and the sound of distant screaming echoing in his ears. He gazed at the form standing above him, broad shoulders silhouetted by the light of a fire, honey blond hair flopped over a concerned looking brow. 

“You were shoutin’ in your sleep,” Bucky heard the man say. He blinked, unmoving and tense. “You alright?” The man reached a hand out to touch him again, this time holding more than shaking. His fingers curled around Bucky's left shoulder gingerly and Bucky shivered. Bucky snuck a glance around himself, looking for wreckage and broken body parts but found only a small campfire and the man crouching over him. _Steve. The cattle drive. Alpine to Abilene_. Of course. 

Bucky jolted backwards, out of Steve’s hold and into a seated position. “Sorry,” he mumbled before taking a shaky breath and chancing another look around himself. The sun had yet to rise and a cool breeze was rolling in from beyond the pastures. It was still late. Steve took a hesitant step back, never taking his eyes off of Bucky. “I’m alright,” Bucky said gruffly. 

“Are you sure? I can—”

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky said, words clipped. He was annoyed by Steve’s worry and his own discontent. 

Steve took a seat on the other side of the fire, sneaking glances at Bucky when he thought he wasn’t looking. “That happen a lot?”

Bucky felt a flare of righteous anger at the thought of having to explain himself. “What’s it matter? I can set up camp somewhere else if it bothers you so much,” he said bitterly.

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. “Quit yer moanin’, I was just tryin’ to help.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments before Bucky sighed and straightened up. “I’m gonna go piss. You can go ahead and knock off for the night. I won’t be gettin’ any sleep anyway.” 

Bucky walked away without another word and without waiting for a response from Steve. It had only been a few days but he knew any invitation extended to Steve Rogers to talk would be met with enthusiastic acceptance. He found a spot to relieve himself and then stood, gazing out into the dark pasture, letting the hum of the crickets and cicadas drown out the ringing in his ears. 

The following days passed largely without incident. Steve tried his best to pull small pieces of information out of Bucky as often as he could and Bucky tried his best to hold them close to his chest. He figured giving Steve the cold shoulder had to deter him eventually. 

“The one with the bum leg hasn’t been eatin’,” Steve said. “You think he’ll be a problem?”

The heat had refused to abate and the boys were sat under a piece of blissful shade one afternoon while the cattle grazed and the horses drank from a small stream nearby. 

“Nah, that’s the other one,” Bucky said without looking up from where he was re-lacing his boots. “The one with the white chest hasn’t been eatin’.”

“Yeah that’s the one that wandered off yesterday. The one we almost lost.”

“The one _you_ almost lost.” Steve shot out a laugh and Bucky bit his cheek to keep from grinning. “That was on your side, pal. I had my area under control.”

Steve threw out his hands placatingly. “Alright, alright. But that’s the one with the bum leg!”

“No, Patricia has the bum leg,” Bucky said, but froze on the spot just as quick as he had spoken. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the excited smile making its way across Steve’s face.

“Who?” he asked, hardly holding himself together. 

Bucky took a deep breath and steeled himself. A beat. Then, “I named the cattle.”

Steve's grin broke and he roared with laughter, holding his stomach as he shook. “You what?”

“It makes it easier, alright? There’s so many to keep track of and it ain’t like you can remember them just by lookin’.” Bucky picked at the dirt on his pants absentmindedly. He waited for Steve to ridicule him but he shoulda’ known it wasn’t gonna come. 

“So which one wandered off yesterday?”

Bucky couldn’t help himself and let out a clipped laugh. “Freddie,” he said, pointing. 

“Which one’s that?” Steve asked, pointing to a black cow at the edge of the pasture. 

“Asher.”

“Terrible name.”

“Fuck you.”

“That one?”

“Ruthie.” At Steve’s raised eyebrow, Bucky added, “She’s awful fast, just like my sister.”

“I’m gonna have to tell your sister she reminds you of a cow.”

“I’ll feed you to the dogs, Steve Rogers,” Bucky gritted out, reaching over to shove Steve lightheartedly. 

“You wouldn’t,” Steve said through another shit eatin’ grin. “You couldn’t stand to be rid of me.”

Bucky laughed. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, pal. Maybe then I could finally get some peace and quiet around here.”

“Aw don’t be sore, Buck, I’ll leave you to spend time with your new friends here,” Steve snickered as Bucky shoved him again, laughing heartily at this point. 

“Which one’s named Steve? The big one over there?”

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes. “These cows are too good for you,” he said instead of, _I’ve tried, none of them are the right shade of honey golden._ “Besides,” he added, just to cover his bases, “none of them are complete stubborn asses.”

By the time they rode off again, Steve calling out the names of the cattle as he rounded them up, Bucky had a permanent smile plastered on his face and Steve was pleased as punch to see it there. Bucky’s eyes were as bright and his cheeks were flushed red from laughter and something moved in Steve’s chest as he watched the man ride. 

But just when Steve thought Bucky was warming up to him like a cat in a sunbeam, he would pull back like it burned him, bar the doors and leave Steve waiting outside in the rain. He was a prickly one, Bucky Barnes. 

They had their first fight while packing up camp just outside Saragosa. It was a quiet morning with hazy fog settling over the campsite and dew topping the long strands of grass, just cold enough to make you shiver as you dressed. Steve had gone to fetch water from the stream to fill their canteens and pitchers and when he returned, Bucky was strapping his saddle to his horse. Steve slowed the horse to a walk as he approached. He watched the muscles of Bucky’s back move and stretch, his strength obvious as he lifted the enormous pack onto the horse. To Steve's certain detriment, Bucky liked to wear light colored shirts; whites and creams that when the sweat showed through would reveal every hard line of Bucky's back. 

But as he watched, Bucky struggled. He reached under the horse to grab the straps to weave together and pull them tight, but one fell short and the saddle fell in a heap on the ground. Steve jumped off of his horse, darting to Bucky’s side and grabbing the other end of the saddle to lift it. Bucky noticed Steve lifting the other side and he pulled it out of his hands. 

“I’ve got it, thanks,” he said curtly.

Surprised, Steve watched as he tried to lift the saddle again and despite his better judgment, surged forward to help. “Here Buck, let me just—”

“ _Steve,”_ Bucky gritted out. “I don’t need your help.”

Steve grabbed the edge of the saddle roughly, “I _know you don't._ I'm just offerin’.”

“If you knew that then you'd leave it be.” Bucky yanked it back towards himself and out of Steve's hands. “I can get by on my own.”

“But the thing is, Buck, you don't have to.”

“Arrogant son of a bitch,” Bucky seethed, dropping the saddle in a fury. “Look here Steve Rogers,” he said, venom dripping from his words, finger pointed in Steve's face. “I don't need help from _nobody_. Just because you look at me and you think I ain't capable of somethin’, doesn't mean I can't do it. _I_ was hired for this job. _Me._ Without a handler or some assistant to do the work for me, and I’d prefer if you would act like it.”

Bucky stood with his hand on his hip, breathing heavily as his eyes bore into Steve’s. Steve stared, a little surprised at the fury in his eyes. After a moment, whether for Bucky’s sake or his own sanity he wasn’t sure, Steve relaxed his balled fists and said, “Alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” He stepped forward with a hand out, as if to add more but Bucky cut him off before he could even begin.

“Just leave it be,” he said beneath a harsh sigh, turning back to his horse. 

But Steve, of course, could not leave it be. 

He thought about it for the rest of the afternoon, couldn’t shake the anger and bitterness he felt from Bucky. He knew things must be tough for the man and he didn’t want to make them more difficult for him. He could swear, hand on the Bible, that he didn’t see Bucky any different from anyone else. He swore up and down that he didn’t doubt Bucky’s abilities at all, but he had to reckon with the fact that what he had done proved that he did doubt Bucky's abilities. Any other man and Steve would’ve left him alone to sort out his saddle, but he couldn’t with Bucky. A small part of him chimed in that perhaps he helped so as to be a little closer to the man but he couldn’t admit to that. 

So later that evening, as the sun sank slowly behind the clouds, Steve decided to bring it up.

In the most subtle way possible, of course. 

“I'm sorry for helpin’ ya earlier,” Steve said, quick and even toned. Bucky looked up, spoon in hand, mouth full of beans and stared at Steve. They were sat around a small fire, cast iron pot still bubbling with the food Steve had made for them. “I won't do it again,” Steve added quickly. 

Bucky closed his eyes as he sighed and Steve watched his form deflate where he sat. A pit started to grow in Steve's stomach. 

“ _Christ,”_ Bucky said under his breath. “I never said you couldn't help me, Steve. Just said I don't need to be watched like a child.”

Steve considered that for a moment, really giving it some thought. “You’re right. You're no child and I’ll not treat you like one.”

Bucky nodded curtly and returned to his bowl, but Steve stared quietly into the flames. His knee bounced and he chewed the inside of his cheek. After a few moments of watching this and hoping fruitlessly that he would disappear into the darkness behind him instead of having this conversation, Bucky sighed. “Let me guess. You want to know what happened.”

“No, that’s not—I was just—”

“Airstrike in France. Took ‘em three days of tryin’ to save it to just cut the damn thing off.”

Steve was quiet. “You don’t have to tell me about it.”

“It’s alright. That’s all anybody ever wants to know. Do you remember it? Were you awake for it? Did it hurt?” Bucky imitated the invasive questions in a tired, despondent tone. Steve said nothing. “Yes, no, and abso-fucking-lutely, for the record.”

Steve grinned. “People are assholes.”

“Sometimes I like to fuck with ‘em, say it got ripped off by a bear or sawn off by Hitler himself.” Steve laughed, short and surprised. “They don’t want to know the truth. That we were just marchin’ up a hill to look for firewood and a fleet of German pilots caught us by surprise. Nothin’ heroic about being sittin’ ducks. Shootin’ bullets in the sky like we were pissin’ in the wind.” Bucky said this wistfully, like it amused him now in a dark and twisted way.

“Nothin’ you could’ve done.”

“That’s the God’s honest truth.” Bucky said, staring blankly as he pushed his boot through the dirt aimlessly. “But that doesn’t change the way it feels.”

Steve hummed. “Like there’s a pit in your chest, sucking out everything good and warm inside of you.”

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully. “You served?”

“Forty-two to forty-five.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “And does it still eat you up inside?”

“Every day of my life.”

The men were quiet for the moment, getting lost, perhaps, in the pits inside their chests. “It’s awful fucked up what they put us through. What they’d force a man to do.”

“I volunteered, actually. Can’t say they forced me. It was my own damn fault,” Steve said with a wry smile. At Bucky’s raised eyebrow he added, “Didn’t have any prospects for myself and I just couldn’t stand the thought of not helping. ‘Specially while good men like you were going through it.”

“Don’t weep for me, Steve Rogers.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Bucky Barnes.”

Steve ran his hand through his beard, trying not to fall too deeply into the chasm of his own past, before something even darker occurred to him. “Did you lose anyone?”

“Lost half my platoon that day,” Bucky said dejectedly. “And my best friend.” It was muted and quiet, barely above a whisper but Steve heard.

“It follows you. They all do.”

“That, they do.”

Steve allowed Bucky a moment of reticence, to sit in his pain and feel it deeply and fully. It was what he wished for himself and was the least he could offer the man across from him. After some time, they gathered their things and spread their blankets out for the night. They laid closer than usual to each other that night, facing in opposite directions but clinging, perhaps, to the connection they had made, tenuous as it may have been.

Steve would leave soon to check on the cattle and begin his watch for the first half of the night but he couldn’t bear to walk away just yet. He wanted to stay for another moment, just a little longer to soak in the warmth of the closeness they had found. They laid together, watching the sky in silence.

“That’s why I like being out here on the range. Enough space to not be stifled,” Steve said, softly and sincerely. “Sometimes I wake up and I think I’m still over there. ‘Specially out here in the dark. I reach for my rifle before I even know what I’m doing.” Bucky didn’t say anything and he didn’t need to. They both knew what Bucky dreamt of in the dead of night. “That’s why I keep the fire going while I doze off. Reminds me where I am.”

Steve took a deep breath, realizing suddenly the vulnerability he had just revealed. Perhaps a touch too forward but he couldn’t say he regretted it. He didn’t know, couldn’t have known, that there were tears forming in the corner of Bucky’s eyes. And Bucky wouldn’t tell but his heart was humming in his chest, a pit of warmth burning at the center.

“I wasn't tryin’ to prod. Honest. I was just tryin’ to help,” Steve added earnestly, so quiet it was almost swallowed up by the night.

“I know, Steve. I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains breathtakingly beautiful art from talli

The days that followed Steve and Bucky’s heartfelt conversation were nothing short of agonizing for Bucky Barnes.

Not because he regretted the things he said. No, he found himself strangely grateful for the opportunity to talk about things he thought he never wanted to recount again. Bucky hadn’t expected Steve’s sudden moment of vulnerability and honesty. He expected even less his own visceral reaction to it. He had met and spoken to plenty of people who served in the war; he had gotten to know very deeply the men he worked with. None of those conversations lingered with him the way that this one did.

He spent the entire ride the next day fixated on the things Steve had shared and the way Bucky himself had so easily opened up. But more than that, he couldn’t shake the way the conversation had made him feel. The closeness and warmth he felt each time he looked at Steve. No, more than warmth. Heat.

He dwelled on the deep hum of Steve’s voice and the way he looked at Bucky as he spoke, like nothing in the world could break his concentration. He thought of Steve’s small grin each time Bucky joked with him unexpectedly—so soft and delicate for a man of his size and stature. He thought about Steve in ways that he knew he shouldn’t.

Steve—damn him—had worn Bucky down and, despite himself, Bucky wanted more. A futile, hopeless sentiment that he couldn’t indulge. Sixteen days remained of the drive. Sixteen days to rid himself of this feeling and ignore every impulse that drove him to Steve.

And so began Bucky’s slow descent into madness.

It started the next morning as the sun crept over the horizon. It was a cool morning, hints of the coming cold fronts of fall sitting stiffly in the air. Fresh dew topped the long strands of grass and caused a shiver to run through him as Bucky waded through the pasture towards camp.

Steve awoke as Bucky tended to the fire, stoking it until small flames were produced. He placed a small cast-iron skillet on the hot coals, opened a can of beans and dumped them onto the hot pan. Another skillet held chunks of salted bacon and Bucky spooned some pork fat into the beans for good measure. The kettle soon started to boil next to him so he added the coffee grounds before giving them a good stir, breathing in the aroma and the warm steam.

Bucky was a shit cook at the best of times, but breakfast was the one meal of the day he could handle. Nothing woke a man like the sizzle of frying bacon and the smell of fresh coffee. Bucky preferred second watch so that he could enjoy these quiet, peaceful moments with only himself, the cattle, and the open plains.

And it _was_ quite peaceful. Until Steve woke up.

He was curled beneath an old worn saddle blanket, artfully woven into a geometric pattern with deep reds, oranges and blues. His stetson sat tilted atop his head out of habit and his lips were set into a deep pout as he slept. He started to stir at the first sound of frying bacon and fully awoke once the kettle began to whistle.

“Least I always know how to get your ass up,” Bucky said lightheartedly, nodding at the food as Steve sat up fully. He ran a hand roughly over his face and scratched his beard as he yawned.

“Like you’re a peach to wake up in the middle of the god damn night,” Steve countered.

Bucky grinned and flipped a piece of bacon in the pan. “I'm always a peach.”

Steve’s eyes were still mostly squinted shut but he was becoming more animated as they spoke. “Ha! You've never had to dodge a punch from half-asleep Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t want to admit that he rarely remembered Steve waking him up for watch.

Steve’s arms rose as he straightened his back into a long stretch. A deep groan emanated from Steve’s chest and the sound shot through Bucky's own chest, down into the pit of his stomach. He ignored the tempting feeling and focused his attention on the food in front of him.

Steve rummaged through his small rucksack of clothes until he found a relatively clean shirt and a new pair of pants. He stood up from where he sat and started to undress. “How were the cattle this mornin’?” Steve asked, gazing at the cows resting in the pasture next to him. He had unbuttoned his shirt and trousers and was fussing with the buttons at his wrist.

Bucky's eyes were drawn like magnets to Steve's bare chest on display and the pants slung low on his hips. Steve had an impressive physique, built from long hours working on the ranch and the immense strength it required.

His chest was broad with ridges of firm muscles covered in soft hair and tanned from the sun. If he looked closely, Bucky could see a smattering of freckles across Steve's pecs. But his eyes drifted lower. They followed the trail of dark hair below Steve's navel, where tanned skin turned pale, and his eyes stopped at the bulge in the front of his trousers. Bucky swallowed and quickly looked away before his mind could drift any further.

"Just fine," he said gruffly.

Steve finally finished undoing his cuffs and threw on a new shirt and fresh trousers. He stepped into his boots and finally left to go freshen up at the stream nearby and Bucky let out a ragged breath. Desire gathered at the base of his spine, sharp and hot like a low boil in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t do this. Not here.

Bucky finished breakfast and scarfed his share down quick as he could before Steve returned. He claimed he would go ready the horses and check on the cattle and rushed away from camp with his head hung low and his gaze pointed down.

By the time they stopped for lunch, the sun was high, the heat had risen, and sweat soaked through their shirts. The trail led them across a creek, deep and wide enough to wade into properly, so the boys decided to take a break.

The streams they crossed were rarely deep enough to take proper baths so they made it a habit of taking advantage of every opportunity that presented itself. They corralled the cattle into a pasture next to the creek to graze and drink while they led their horses to the water.

It was a bit of a gamble leaving the cattle out in the open pasture—free to wander off if they pleased or run away if they were spooked—while they walked their bare asses into the water, but Steve’s insistence that Bucky smelled like a pig sty had won him over. Bucky knew Steve was just dyin’ for a swim to escape the heat and he wasn’t cruel enough to deny him of that.

Bucky’s condition had improved only slightly throughout the course of the morning. He took any chance to separate himself from the object of his foolhardy desire, but somehow Steve always found his way back to Bucky’s side. Every time Bucky caught a glance of those strong forearms or that slim waist, his mind drifted. He thought of the things he wanted to do to that man. The things he used to do to Colin.

Bucky knew Steve had caught him looking a couple times but he hoped the quick scowl that covered his face was enough to ward Steve off. A man could hope.

Either way he knew Steve would never acknowledge what he probably thought was happening. Suggesting something like that was almost worse than acting on it. The other party always had the benefit of denial, of being affronted that the suggestion was even made. Steve would be the queer one for even mentioning it, never mind the way Bucky’s eyes had been following him all day.

And Bucky knew what an accusation like that could mean for someone like Steve or himself. Men were murdered for far less.

Bucky roped his horse to a tree next to the water and took a few long drinks from his canteen, settling himself. He turned and began to undress. It took him a little longer than most to unbutton his shirt and trousers so he took his time, listening to the calming flow of the water and taking a few deep breaths of the clean Texas air.

A few yards down the creek, Steve was also taking his sweet time to undress and Bucky tried his damnedest not to look. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Steve finally remove his underwear and take his first few hesitant steps into the creek, getting his footing on the slick rocks and testing out the current.

The water was up to Steve’s knees as he waded further into the creek and Bucky couldn’t look away. He had thighs as big as tree trunks and strong calves. The muscles in his back moved and shifted as he steadied himself on the rocks and his firm, pale ass shone in the midday sun. Bucky watched his balls where they swung low between his legs and caught a glimpse of Steve’s cock before his breath hitched and his heart raced.

Bucky felt his own cock start to stir so he quickly shed the rest of his clothes, grabbed his bar of soap, and rushed into the water before Steve turned around. He slipped over a few rocks and bent to submerge himself before crawling forward into deeper waters. The creek was cool and biting but a great relief to the heat they had been subjected to for most of the day.

Steve ran his hands through his hair, wetting the long strands before dunking himself underwater completely. He rubbed the water out of his eyes and looked at Bucky with a sugary sweet grin on his face. “Ain’t you glad we stopped?”

Bucky ignored the heat in his gut and rolled his eyes, plastering a smile on his face as he said, “Yeah, yeah. Soak it up water boy.”

“You oughta listen to me more often,” Steve said playfully, leaning back to rest his head in the water, eyes closed, face pointed to the sky.

Before Steve moved, Bucky took a moment to watch him. He'd never seen Steve's face so peaceful and relaxed, soaking up light like a plant in the sun. Bucky could see a spattering of freckles that dotted his cheeks and he noticed a bend in Steve's nose, undoubtedly from one fight too many.

“Is that right?” Bucky asked, unconvinced.

“That’s right. I need my rest and relaxation. You need me at my best, Buck. I’m the heart of this team.”

“Guess that makes me the brains,” Bucky shot back, dodging the splash of water Steve sent his way.

“Any longer without a proper bath and the cattle would’a run off for fear of your foul stench,” Steve said with a gleeful grin, pleased as punch with himself. He lathered the soap in his hands before running it through his hair and down his face and neck.

Bucky shook his head and once Steve came up for air said, “Least they can't understand you. They would'a run themselves off a cliff by now with all your yammerin'.” Bucky ran his bar of soap across his chest and under his arm, delighting in the soothing massage of soap on skin. When he looked up Steve was watching him, eyes on his chest and a dark look in his gaze. He blinked and Steve’s face morphed into a smile.

“You can't fool me, Bucky Barnes you love my yammerin’," Steve replied with a shit eating grin. "I've got enough life experience for the both of us."

Bucky laughed. "Sure, you can teach me how to get into stupid fights I'll never win.”

“I have no idea what you're talkin’ about,” Steve said with mock seriousness. "My record is squeaky clean.” There was that glint in his eyes that Bucky, despite his best efforts, had become increasingly fond of.

“There ain't nothin’ clean about you, pal."

Steve laughed despite himself and looked away. He ran his bar of soap down his stomach and under the water. They were quiet for a moment, both in far deeper thought then the conversation warranted. Bucky's cock had softened from the cold water and the casual conversation but the heat in Steve's eyes was beginning to pool in Bucky's gut and desire licked at his spine. 

“Maybe you're right," Steve finally said. His tone was teasing but his eyes betrayed him.

Bucky may have been in denial but he wasn't an idiot. As much as he didn't want to admit it, there was something there. He wanted to know, though, to be completely sure of what he thought he felt.

He looked down but watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. He waited until he knew Steve was looking before taking his bar of soap and washing his chest again. Bucky drifted his hand across his pecs, running back and forth over his nipples several times before looking up and catching Steve’s eyes boring into him. Steve’s eyes were dark and fixated, without a hint of mirth.

Before long, Steve's jaw clenched and he broke focus. He gazed out across the creek into the plains beyond their pasture. "We better mosey. They won't stay put for long.”

Bucky nodded, tried to settle his beating heart and when he failed, dropped unceremoniously under the water.

“That’s bullshit.”

“It ain’t!”

“There’s no god damn way you were the all-around calf ropin’ champion at Frontier Days.”

“Swear to god!” Steve sat up higher on his saddle, leaning towards Bucky with insistence. “1938. Won the grand prize and everything!”

Bucky lost it at that, laughing in complete disbelief. “In Cheyenne? The biggest damn rodeo in the west?” Bucky demanded through gasps of air.

“That’s right,” Steve replied with a small grin, proud of himself and oblivious to the fun Bucky was having.

They were riding steady and would be for the next ten miles or so, heading northeast along the creek. The afternoon blaze had started to subside and a breeze was rolling through the hills. They hung back behind the herd, pushing where they needed to and allowing the dogs to catch any strays.

“No. I don’t believe you,” Bucky said simply as Steve huffed next to him. “Maybe ridin’ broncos ‘cos you’re just that stupid but ropin’? I don’t think so.” He thought of the massive broncos and the intensity with which they bucked their riders. The horses were strong and incredibly powerful. The cowboys used the positioning of their hips and all the brute strength they could muster to stay on while the horse tried to kick them off. Roping, on the other hand, required impeccable skill and perfect timing.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I _am_ an awful good rider,” Steve said with a quick look out of the corner of his eye, “but not back then. I was a scrawny little thing growing up, couldn’t hardly stay on a troublesome pony, much less a buckin’ bronco.”

Bucky took that in, thinking about how much had changed. Steve rode with an open shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair wet and slicked back. “Where’d you get all the equipment? And the horses?”

“The rancher I worked for wanted his son to be a big time roper. Bought him the best Quarter Horses money could buy, all the gear he could possibly need, and he still couldn’t rope for shit. Got tired of it after a few weeks so I took over.”

“The rancher taught you how?”

“Nah, I taught myself. Did enough calf ropin’ out on the ranch anyway, just needed to get a little faster,” Steve said with a shrug, as if it were that simple. Bucky knew that if it were that simple, every damn rancher in Texas would be lined up outside that rodeo, waiting for their grand prize. It was a feat to even qualify.

But Bucky couldn’t let him off that easy. He squinted his eyes playfully. “I’m not as gullible as you think, you know,” he said.

Just as Steve set his shoulders and prepared to give what Bucky was sure would be an unconvincing but no less passionate case for his rodeo expertise, the boys heard a whistle from farther up the trail. The distinct call of a cowboy. Steve and Bucky turned their heads to find a group of men atop one of the hills in the distance.

“Hell, I didn’t realize we were that close to the Taylor ranch already,” Steve said wistfully, removing his hat to wave at the other men.

“Neither did I,” Bucky mused.

The cowboys on the ridge were not an unwelcome sight—entirely the opposite in fact. During the cattle drives of the Old West, there were dozens of trails that ran for thousands of miles without sight or sound of another human. These days, there were only a few trails to transfer cattle by foot and you were bound to run across someone’s land at some point. It was far easier for the ranchers to work together, to provide food and pastures, than try to find a new path.

They still had a ways to go before they reached the men and they didn’t want to spook the herd so Steve and Bucky rode on and chatted easily. Steve told Bucky of his days in competition, the ribbons he won and the prize money he was forced to give to his ranch owner. The more details he provided, the less sure Bucky was that he was lying. Steve Rogers never failed to impress.

By the time they made it up the ridge, a chuck wagon had rolled up behind the group of men and several of the cowboys were digging through it.

“Howdy there, boys,” the man in front called out. Bucky could see he was older, with a greying mustache and tanned, wrinkled skin. Bucky tipped his hat in greeting. Steve called for the dogs to lay off and without the constant pressure of dogs or ponies, the herd slowed down. “You fellers from old Nelson’s place?”

“That’s right,” Bucky replied.

The man nodded. “He mentioned you would be passin’ through. We’ll just have a quick look-see at the herd here and you boys can be on your way.” The ranches they passed through typically liked to look through the herd to make sure the drivers hadn’t picked up any of their cattle, intentionally or not. Steve and Bucky nodded in acknowledgment and the men rode off.

“Y’all lookin’ to restock any of your supplies?” one of the other men asked, gesturing to the chuck wagon behind them.

“Yes sir,” Steve said enthusiastically, dropping off his horse to take a look. Though they had enough beans and corn meal to last them the rest of the trip, it was nice to stock up on things like vegetables and fresh meat. Bucky bought a dozen eggs, wrapped cleverly in an old basket, along with a few ears of corn and a handful of peppers. Steve chose salted pork belly, beef jerky and some dried fruit.

As they were stuffing everything into the nooks and crannies of their saddle packs, one of the cowboys, who had been staring at Bucky with an odd look, piped up. “Barnes, right?”

Bucky looked up, assessing the man in front of him. He didn’t recognize him. “That’s right,” he said, clear question in his voice.

“Bruce,” the man supplied. “I was a farmhand out at your place for a short while. Still see your Pa at the Ector county market every now and again.”

Bucky nodded along, feigning recognition. They had had so many farm hands over the years it was hard to keep track. “Good to see ya.”

“How’s your ma?” Bruce asked.

“Doin’ just fine. I’ll let her know you asked after her,” Bucky said with a tip of his hat. He mounted his horse as gracefully as possible with one hand, using the strength of his legs and torso to lift himself up and over. He knew the men were watching and preferred not to make a spectacle of himself.

“You do that,” the man said, but he continued to stare at Bucky. Bucky looked to Steve to save him from the awkward silence—if anyone could fill the quiet with meaningless chatter it was Steve—but his gaze was directed at the herd and the cowboys riding through it. He was anxious for them to be on their way, Bucky could tell. “Sorry to hear about your uncle,” Bruce added.

“Thank you kindly,” Bucky said politely. He should’ve known word of his uncle would travel this fast. It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to discuss but he couldn’t ignore the man’s condolences.

“William was a good man, from what I knew.”

“That he was. Lived a long and prosperous life,” Bucky said.

“What’s happenin’ to his farm?” Bruce wondered. “He didn’t have any kids, did he?”

“Well,” Bucky started. This wasn’t exactly news he wanted to share with the entire state of Texas just yet, but it also wasn’t a secret. “I’ll be takin’ it over.” Steve’s head snapped around, finally looking away from the herd and at the side of Bucky’s face as Bucky looked down.

“Is that right?”

“It is,” Bucky acknowledged. “Left the land and the livestock to my father, who passed it on to me.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, assessing Bucky as he chewed the piece of tobacco in his cheek. He hummed.

Before Bruce could ask any more probing questions, the group of cowboys returned to the top of the ridge. They had finished their inspection and Steve and Bucky were to be on their way.

“There's a few fenced pastures up yonder," the older man said, gesturing off into the distance. "Just past the ridge, before you make it to the canyons. Y'all can use that to rest up if you'd like."

“Awful kind of you sir," Steve said with a tip of his hat.

“Think nothin’ of it,” the man said. He sat atop his horse, counting the cash Steve and Bucky had paid with. “’Preciate your business."

Bucky yanked the reins of his horse and rode away swiftly, welcoming the breeze on his hot cheeks.

“Startin’ up your own ranch, huh?” Steve asked slyly. “My oh my, I didn’t know I was ridin’ with such a big time rancher.”

Bucky tried to hide the grin that was taking over his face but he failed. “Shut up.”

“That sounds like a big deal, Buck,” Steve insisted.

“Suppose it is,” Bucky said, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “It’s not a lot; only a few dozen acres. Enough to raise cattle but not much farming.”

“But it’s yours,” Steve said simply. “Land like that ain’t particularly easy to come by.” Bucky considered this for a moment. He hadn’t downplayed the idea of running his own ranch in his head but he certainly hadn’t dwelled on it. Frankly, he had a suspicion that it wouldn’t work out for one reason or another and he wouldn’t get the land. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Why didn’t your father just sell the land?” Steve asked.

“Well,” Bucky began, trying to decide how much of himself he wanted to divulge to his new friend, if that’s what he could call him. “He wanted to keep it in the family but he still has his land to run, of course. But I think it was more than that.” Bucky thought for a moment. “See, I’ve always wanted to go to college. Engineering or mechanics or something along those lines. I’ve always loved fixin’ stuff up, trying to figure things out, but my parents never had the money. I think this was his way of sending me off on my own.”

Steve hummed. “He sounds like a good man.”

Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek. “He is.”

“I’m surprised you even came on the drive,” Steve said, looking at Bucky curiously.

Bucky shrugged. “I’d already accepted the offer before news of my uncle made it to us.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve said softly, looking directly into Bucky’s eyes with entirely too much sincerity. Bucky gripped the reins in his hand nervously, tensing and relaxing compulsively.

“I am too.”

They rode on. Bucky didn’t know what to say.

“All that land will be nice for you and the missus,” Steve said, and the statement was pleasant but clearly searching.

“Ah,” Bucky cleared his throat. “No one waitin’ for me back home.”

“Not even a girlfriend?”

“Nothin’ serious, no.”

“Huh,” Steve said pensively. He gazed at the horizon distractedly.

“What about you?” Bucky asked, because that was what he was supposed to do.

“Fiancée,” Steve said, and suddenly there was a ringing in Bucky’s ears. “Set to be married this year,” he added matter-of-factly, looking down and fussing with his saddle.

“Oh,” Bucky said. His heart plummeted and he could feel a distinct sinking feeling in each of his limbs. _Had he completely misread the signs? There had been signs, right?_ “Congratulations.”

_Fuck, Bucky was such an idiot._

“Thanks,” Steve murmured.

“You don’t want any coffee, do you?”

Steve finished dividing up the scraps between the dogs and looked at Bucky where he sat next to the fire. “Nah. Figured I’d try and get a few more hours of sleep tonight, since they’re pinned.”

Bucky usually brewed Steve a cup of coffee after dinner to give him enough caffeine to last until the early hours of the morning but since the cows were in the fenced pasture of the Taylor ranch, Steve didn’t have to keep watch. The cattle were free to roam as they pleased and Steve and Bucky could sleep the whole night through. A rare but pleasant occurrence on the trail.

The only rub being that this night decided to bring a taste of the coming cold front, leaving them shivering under their wool coats. Steve should have been used to the whiplash of Texas weather, but a crisp fall night like this one still caught him by surprise.

He sauntered back over to the fire, pulling his coat a little tighter around his shoulders. Bucky was busy cleaning up the few dishes they had used and stoking the flames of the fire. Most nights they would let it burn down to the coals but they could use the extra warmth tonight.

Bucky had hardly said a word to Steve on their way to camp and all the way through dinner and Steve knew it had something to do with their earlier conversation. Steve knew that he and Bucky weren’t very close. They didn’t know jack shit about each other, could barely call each other friends and yet Steve knew he had screwed up by not telling Bucky about his fiancée. He could always say it just never came up but he knew that was bullshit. There was another reason that neither one of them was ready to say out loud. And Steve didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

He wasn’t planning on feeling this type of way about the man he worked with but, of course, he _never_ planned on it. He never wished for it or sought it out. These kinds of affairs had a way of finding him and he had a way of never turnin’ them down. 

So he would wait. There was something here that couldn’t be explained, couldn’t be spoken out loud but also couldn’t be denied. Steve never claimed to be strong enough to refuse his own desires.

“You want some whiskey?” Steve asked, leaning across the fire to hold up a small flask.

Bucky looked at him suspiciously. “Since when can you afford to buy yourself some whiskey?”

“Can’t,” Steve said with a grin. “Swiped it from those Taylor assholes.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“Come on,” Steve said, quiet and more serious this time. “It’ll warm you up.”

Bucky reluctantly grabbed the outstretched bottle and took a sip, wincing at the strength of the liquor. Steve watched as he swallowed, coughed a little and then shivered. The heat of the whiskey sat heavy in Steve’s stomach and he took another drink when Bucky handed it back. They traded it back and forth without a word. Soon Bucky’s eyes were shining across the fire and his cheeks held a pink tint.

“So,” Bucky said suddenly, breaking Steve out of his reverie. “What’s your fiancée’s name?”

He should've seen this coming. Reluctantly, Steve said, “Sharon.”

“Nice name.”

Steve’s eyes never left the fire.

“What’s she like?”

“Look, Bucky—” Steve stopped and ran a hand over his face. “She’s—it’s not like that.”

“How do you mean?”

Steve gazed into the darkness behind them, looking for the right words to say. They didn’t come to him. “It’s just not.”

Bucky stared at him, unflinching and without fear. “Do you love her?”

Steve’s eyes dropped, unable to hold his gaze. After several moments he finally spoke. “I care about her very much.” Steve looked up.

Bucky stared as he brought the flask to his lips. He hummed thoughtfully. “Do you care about anyone else, Steve?”

Steve’s heart beat in his chest. This time he looked up. He locked eyes with Bucky and he could see the fire reflected in them, bright and blazing. “Absolutely.”

Bucky leaned forward, the light of the fire cupping his face in a warm glow the closer he got. It took Steve a moment too long to notice Bucky’s outstretched hand holding the flask of whiskey. He took it from him. “We should get some shut eye,” Bucky finally said. His face was blank and expressionless but the glint in his eyes came from more than the fire between them. Steve blinked and looked away, rubbing his hand up and down the side of his leg in frustration. He needed to get a handle on himself.

Steve stood up and they both set to arranging their things for the night. He put away the whiskey and placed his thicker blanket on the hard ground before grabbing his sack of clothes and forming it into the approximate shape of a pillow. He wrapped his other blanket around his shoulders as tightly as he could and laid next to the fire, content to stare into the flames for the rest of the night, sure he wouldn’t find any rest. Usually a decent saddle blanket was more than enough to keep them comfortable on the trail but this night was uncommonly cold. Before he could lose himself to his own mind though, he heard a few quick breaths coming from the other side of the fire. He looked over, noticed Bucky’s shoulders shaking, and heard a faint clicking of teeth.

“Buck.” Bucky raised his head from beneath his measly blanket and looked towards Steve. “You’re shiverin’,” Steve said.

“Well it’s fuckin’ cold, what do you expect, cowboy?”

Steve grinned to himself and stopped himself from laughing. “Do you want another blanket?”

“You got some lyin’ around here I don’t see?” Bucky gave him a look as if to say _cut the shit._ He knew Steve was offering him his only blanket. “Well then, no thank you.”

Steve sighed, unsurprised at his stubbornness but no less irritated. His mind then decided to supply one of his worst ideas yet and, being Steve Rogers, he immediately decided to act on it.

“Why don’t you just come lay over here? Our body heat’ll do more than these damn blankets ever could.” He regretted it the moment he said it, especially when there was no response or movement on Bucky’s part. _God, who does this?_ He had slept next to other men before, sure, but during a snowstorm, not an _uncommonly cold fall night._ He was about to get socked in the jaw.

“Alright,” Bucky said quietly, silencing Steve’s internal debate. Bucky pushed to his feet, grabbing his blankets and moving across the fire. He hesitated where he stood and Steve could only watch wordlessly as he eventually decided to lay down between Steve and the fire. He turned to his side to face the fire, resting his head on his right arm and situating himself until he was comfortable.

Steve turned to mirror him, shifting his body to curl around Bucky’s in the shape of a grin, wishing with everything he had that the foot of space between them wasn’t there. From this vantage point, he could smell what must’ve been Bucky’s scent, sweet and musky mixed with the smoke from the fire. It was heady and distracting and Steve took a deep breath to calm himself. He kept his hand firmly under his own chest and tried to relax as he watched Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall.

Steve couldn’t imagine what they looked like here; two bulky men, curled around each other for warmth and comfort. He couldn’t imagine what someone would say or do if they walked up on such a sight. But he didn’t have to worry about that. They were completely and utterly alone in the vastness of the plains with only the stars above them to watch them as they slept. It was a dizzying, empowering feeling.

They lay there for what felt like forever. The fire had gone down some and still, Steve lay awake. He knew Bucky hadn’t slept either—his breaths were still short and shallow—but he hadn’t moved or said a word. Every breath Steve took was filled more and more with the smell of the man in front of him. His eyes moved from Bucky’s strong shoulders to the dip of his waist and the curve of his ass. He was strong and soft and laying so close, and Steve felt as if he were being tortured.

Steve had never been faced with this much desire and this much hesitation. Most of his flings were with men who had come on to him. He never had to do much guess work, nor did he ever have to wait this long.

He didn't want to wait any longer, couldn't justify it to himself. Maybe he would get his ass kicked but he had to find out. Without thinking any further about it, he moved his arm forward and rested it behind Bucky, just barely grazing his back. _This was a terrible idea. This was the dumbest thing he had ever done—_ but he held his breath and moved his hand to Bucky’s hip.

He waited for Bucky to shove him away, to shout at him and call him a fag, or worse, beat the living shit out of him, but none of that came. Bucky laid still and silent. Steve’s hand relaxed and his fingers splayed around Bucky’s hip, touching the skin that peeked out where his shirt had ridden up. Steve held his breath and savored the feeling of Bucky’s skin under his.

Suddenly, Bucky shifted and Steve’s heart almost jumped out of his chest until he realized that Bucky was scooting _back,_ closer towards Steve. _Christ._

Steve took this as the invitation it was and slid his hand around Bucky’s hip, underneath his shirt, and onto the soft skin under Bucky’s navel. His heart was hammering in his chest and his cock twitched in his pants as he felt the hair leading down Bucky’s stomach. Desire pooled at the base of his spine and he almost shook with the force of it.

Steve was still curled around him and his groin was dangerously close to the curve of Bucky’s ass but he didn’t dare move any closer. Instead his hand moved lower, passing over the front of Bucky’s trousers, until he felt the hardness there. He stroked it slowly but firmly, feeling it grow beneath his palm. A ragged breath left Bucky’s lips and he shifted further back. Steve threw out the last of his self control and pulled Bucky closer by the hip until he was flush with Steve’s body.

Bucky groaned softly when he felt the hardness of Steve’s cock against his ass and Steve pushed against him, chasing the delicious friction. He moved his focus to the button at the top of Bucky’s pants, effortlessly sliding down the zipper, pushing inside, and cupping Bucky in his hand. Steve moaned, quiet as he could, but it was clear. He started to stroke, bringing Bucky to full hardness as he hooked his chin over Bucky’s shoulder to breathe him in. Bucky was trembling.

He started to stroke faster, spreading the precome that leaked at the tip. He thought about wrapping his lips around the tip of Bucky’s cock or better yet, Bucky pushing inside of him and he moaned again, grinding harder into Bucky’s backside. Bucky’s breath was stuttering but he pushed back in time with Steve’s movements. They ground against each other like teenagers, desperate for friction, chasing the intoxicating closeness. It was quick and dirty and they pulled each other apart like it was nothing.

Steve tightened his grip, squeezing expertly beneath the head of Bucky’s cock and Bucky came, breathing out roughly through his nose as he shook. Steve continued to grind against him, spurred on by the feel of Bucky coming in his hand and he came soon after, groaning harshly. He burrowed his face into the back of Bucky’s neck, breathing in the captivating smell as he shuddered with aftershocks. Pleasure rushed through him in waves and he shook as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Steve stroked Bucky’s sensitive cock as it softened, collecting the come his hand, before bringing it behind his back to wipe on the saddle blanket. He thought about bringing his hand to his lips, sucking a finger into his mouth to taste the man he wanted so desperately, but he knew that would take it too far.

Instead, he carefully tucked Bucky back into his pants and settled his arm around Bucky’s hip. He tried to quiet his breathing, matching it with the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. He waited for Bucky to move away, to shift forward at least, but he never did. He stayed close, wrapped up in Steve’s arms.

Neither of them said anything, neither one had the breath to do it, and they didn’t know what they would say even if they could. They laid, sated and relieved, set alight by the fire that still burned between them. It had abated for now, morphed into hot coals burning low at the base of their spines, but it was there. It couldn’t just go out now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit art by the incredibly talented talli

The following morning emerged slowly, light creeping over the horizon, the brisk air hanging around like a stubborn cold that wouldn’t go away.

Bucky woke feeling rested and relaxed all the way down to his bones. He stretched lightly where he lay, feeling the pleasant pull on his overworked muscles. He peeked an eye open, noticed the sun had just barely begun to rise, and decided to stay put. He shifted, burrowing further into the thick blanket and the solid warmth behind him, before realizing suddenly where that warmth came from. Steve.

Bucky froze, hoping desperately he hadn’t woken the man beside him. He was painfully hard and the memories of the previous night suddenly running through his head were doing nothing to help the situation. Steve was facing away from Bucky and though he couldn’t see, Bucky suspected he would be faced with Steve’s morning wood if he stuck around long enough. So he shifted slightly, raising slowly to avoid disturbing the heavy log of a man beside him. The cool air of the morning washed over him as he removed the warmth of the blanket and stood up.

The fire had burned down to a few smoldering embers, but Bucky ignored it in favor of stumbling away from camp as quietly as he could. The button and zipper of his pants were undone and he cursed under his breath as he tried to close them. He followed the quiet sound of trickling water before finally reaching the small stream over the hill next to their campsite. Bucky sat down with a huff, cupping the cool water in his hand and splashing it over his face. The icy cold water opened his still half-closed eyes and brought his mind fully out of sleep.

He tried, really he did. He tried to think about the food he would make that morning, about the chores that needed to be done, about the trail ahead of them, but none of it stuck. He could think of nothing but the feeling of Steve’s fist wrapped around his cock, the sounds of Steve’s harsh breathing in his ear, the small moans Steve let out when he came, grinding into Bucky’s ass the entire time.

Arousal burned deep in Bucky’s gut and he knew he couldn’t escape it, knew good and well he didn’t want to. He peeked over the tall grass to make sure he wasn’t visible from camp, rose to his knees, and took himself in hand. He had touched himself countless times while thinking about other men, much more frequently since returning from Europe, but he usually thought in vague shapes and faceless bodies—hard muscles covered in hair, the cleft of an ass, the hard jaw of a man he’d never met. This time it was Steve’s body—his thick thighs, deep grunts, and soft pink lips—that brought him over the edge slowly, with a hot intensity that pulled a soft grunt out of him. He shivered and gasped while he watched white streaks fall into the water in front of him.

Bucky breathed hard, tucking himself away quickly and standing to his feet shakily. He took a moment to collect himself, hoping this little venture would tide him over at least through breakfast and keep his hands off of Steve. Despite what happened last night, he didn’t know if he’d be welcome. Despite the fact that Steve had made the first move, despite the fact that they had clearly felt something grow between the two of them throughout the trip, nerves lingered in the pit of his stomach as he headed back to camp.

Bucky didn’t know what this meant for the two of them. Every time he thought of Steve’s fiancée, of the rumors that could run amok through town, a painful knot twisted in his gut. The risks were plentiful and severe, he _knew_ that, but Steve had set loose something Bucky had been trying his entire life to restrain. He hadn’t been able to suppress it with Colin, and he didn’t have much hope for himself now.

So he decided to let Steve take the lead. He would sit back, wait and see where the man with all the guts and no inhibition wanted things to go.

The problem was, it appeared as though Steve didn’t want things to go anywhere at all. He barely spoke a word the entire day and went out of his way to avoid catching Bucky’s eyes. Bucky cooked breakfast in silence, frying up their fresh eggs and bacon while Steve dressed. He put on a fresh shirt, a soft blue that brought out his eyes, and a black bandana around his neck. He had used the water at the small stream to wet his hair and beard, and he ran his hands through them methodically while he sipped at his coffee before polishing his boots for what felt like an eternity. 

Steve didn’t seem overly nervous or upset. For the rest of the day he was quiet, almost contemplative, which Bucky knew by now to be completely out of the ordinary for Steve Rogers. He wasn’t rude or short with Bucky, but the fact that this man wasn’t talking his ear off made the pit in Bucky’s stomach grow three sizes. He knew what this meant—that what happened last night was where it would end. It wasn’t to be spoken of. That was fine, he could take a hint.

Except the script that Steve had established for them that first morning, tended to change—quite drastically—the moment the sun went down.

For three straight days, Steve was a stranger to Bucky during the day. They would work and ride together like normal, Steve calling out to Bucky when he saw a few members of the herd heading in the wrong direction, responding politely to Bucky’s thoughts about where to stop for lunch, but without the wisecracks and quick banter Bucky had grown accustomed to. He didn’t tell stories of his troublesome youth or make excessive comments on the heat. He was a perfectly reasonable, amiable coworker and it downright infuriated Bucky.

But by the time the sun set, when Bucky was about ready to slap Steve upside the head and demand to know what he thought he was playin’ at, Steve would change. He would lose his quiet, carefree demeanor and take on a darker, more focused energy. Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes follow him, and he could feel the heat that had once burned between them come to life.

That first night, it was, “ _whatever you want, Buck_ ” in that deep, gruff voice of his when Bucky offered to make stew for dinner. It was ocean blue eyes following Bucky as he moved throughout camp, a finger softly brushing his wrist as Bucky handed Steve the bowl, a groan of satisfaction when Steve took his first bite. The other man had changed so suddenly it was giving Bucky whiplash.

They finished eating without incident and Bucky was returning their cookware to his pack. It sat in the dirt under a grouping of trees next to their camp. He finished rummaging through his bag, fastened it closed and stood, leaning against the bark of the tree to gaze into the darkness. His eyes were on the horizon, lit up by the light of the full moon when he felt Steve walk up behind him. He almost turned, almost asked Steve what he was doing but he felt the man move in closer. He felt the heat of Steve’s body cover him from head to foot.

Steve pressed up against him and Bucky could feel the breadth of his chest against his back, the press of his groin into Bucky’s ass, and he shivered as Steve’s breath ghosted across his neck. Steve's hands rested on Bucky's hips, asking an unspoken question.

He should’ve moved. Bucky should have pushed Steve’s hands away and demanded they keep things professional between them because he couldn’t take the back and forth, the uncertainty between them, but he didn’t. He grasped Steve's right hand and slid it across his stomach, down to the hardening bulge in his pants. Bucky didn’t stop him when Steve reached into his pants, pulled his cock out and brought it to full hardness. He didn’t move when Steve stroked him slow and firm until Bucky came, shaking hard and breathing fast. He didn’t stop himself when he turned around, yanked open Steve’s trousers and brought him out, groaning as he finally held Steve’s hard, leaking cock in his hand for the first time. He let himself bring Steve off, completely enamored at the look of pleasure on Steve’s face as he groaned and panted into Bucky’s shoulder.

That night, before Bucky succumbed to the pull of sleep, after Steve had stalked off into the dark pasture without a word, he promised himself he would bring it up the next day. He swore he would question Steve and his intentions, demand to know what they were doing. But he didn’t.

Bucky proved unable to crack Steve’s new calm and quiet demeanor. He was too frightened to bring it up and too cowardly to admit why that was. So he passed the day like any other, riding hard and begging himself to enjoy the rare moments of peace and quiet.

The second night, Bucky waited. Steve’s eyes followed him as he moved through camp but he made no move. Steve sat across the fire, bathed in warm light, taking small sips of whiskey and letting his eyes rove from the center of Bucky’s chest, down to his feet. Bucky tried to calm the hot anticipation climbing up his spine and tried to convince himself that nothing was going to happen, that he didn’t _want_ anything to happen, but the hardness in his pants proved that to be a lie. Still, Steve said nothing.

He was challenging Bucky, waiting for him to ask for it, but Bucky didn’t play games. So he called Steve’s bluff and stood to arrange his bed roll. He threw his blanket onto the ground and his heart thrummed as he watched Steve stand slowly out of the corner of his eye. He watched his large frame make its way around the fire, the shadows shifting dramatically across the blond’s face.

Steve made eye contact, challenging him, daring him to say something but Bucky met his scorching hot gaze head on. Without hesitating, Steve sauntered up to Bucky and sunk easily to his knees and Bucky exhaled roughly, not realizing he had been holding his breath. Steve kneeled before him, watching, waiting, challenging once more. He licked his lips. Without stopping to consider, Bucky moved his shaking hand to the front of his trousers and undid the button slowly.

That finally spurred Steve on and he made quick work of the zipper, pulling Bucky’s pants and shorts down below his ass. Before he could think, Bucky’s cock was sliding between Steve’s lips. He moaned obscenely at the wet heat that surrounded him, trembled at the feeling of Steve’s tongue circling the tip.

“ _Fuck,”_ Bucky groaned.

Steve swallowed him down, clearly having done this before. His hands reached up to fondle Bucky’s balls before pulling gently. Bucky gasped and his hand reached out to grasp the back of Steve’s head for support. _Jesus Christ,_ this man was going to be the death of him.

Steve set a steady pace, alternating between suckling the head of Bucky’s dick and swallowing him down until his nose reached the soft hair at Bucky’s groin. Bucky shifted his hand from where it was tangled in Steve’s hair, to trace the line of Steve’s jaw and run his fingers through Steve’s beard, feeling himself through Steve’s cheek.

Just as Bucky was getting close, he watched Steve reach down to undo his own trousers and pull himself free.

“ _Christ_ , Steve,” Bucky groaned, “I’m gonna come.” The sight of Steve stroking his own cock as he swallowed Bucky down had sent Bucky over the edge and he moaned, high pitched and desperate, as he came down Steve’s throat. His muscles burned as he rode out his orgasm and he struggled to catch his breath.

Steve let Bucky’s dick fall from his lips before setting back on his heels, his own cock still in his hand. He didn’t stop stroking as he looked up, eyes meeting Bucky’s in a look of anguish. “ _Goddamn_ ,” Bucky said brokenly, kneeling down in front of Steve and replacing Steve’s hand with his own. Steve was wet with precome and Bucky stroked him hard and quick until he was a panting mess on his knees in the dirt. They leaned close to each other, close enough to touch, to share the air between them, but their lips never met. Bucky watched Steve’s face crumple as he groaned and came into Bucky’s hand.

They stayed there, facing each other in the dirt, breathing heavily as their hearts pounded in their chests. Bucky stroked Steve for a moment longer, soft and lingering, before he pulled away, wiped the come on his pants, and stood. He helped Steve to his feet and paused. He waited for an answer or even a hint as to where this would go, but Steve turned and walked away. Bucky could’ve screamed in frustration at this impossible man disappearing into the darkness once more. But he didn’t.

By the third night, Bucky had had enough. He couldn’t play this game of secret, buried affections and he wouldn’t, no matter the risks. If he was going to have Steve, he wanted _all_ of Steve. He would take the uncertainty and the danger for just a taste of what he wanted and he would feel no shame.

So he played along with Steve during the day, responding kindly to his bland conversation and asking nothing in return. He rode swiftly, keeping the herd in line while stealing blatant, unabashed glances at the other man. He watched Steve’s lips as he spoke, admired his slim waist as he rode, and gazed at the bulge highlighted by the chaps that Steve wore when they ventured into rougher terrain. Steve seemed taken aback every time he noticed Bucky staring, stumbling over his words as he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks. It delighted Bucky and only spurred him on because when he stared, Steve stared back and there was a matching fire in his eyes.

By the time they stopped for the evening, Bucky could tell Steve was all kinds of worked up. Bucky kept his composure, though, starting the fire with ease and setting a few pieces of meat to cook. Steve was restless, fumbling with his belongings, leaving several times to check on the cattle. Bucky stayed put on the old log by the fire, lying in wait.

******

"How's the food, Steve?"

Steve glanced up from his bowl and saw Bucky looking at him from under his lashes. Steve nodded. "Good." He continued eating.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

Steve froze mid bite as the memories of the previous night and the feeling of a hot cock on his tongue made their way into his mind. He glanced up at Bucky once more and he was met with a face of pure innocence and a sparkling glint in the other man's eye. Steve could tell what Bucky was doing, knew exactly what he was asking about, but couldn't figure out why. Slowly, he nodded and continued chewing. "Mhmm," he finally muttered.

"Good," Bucky said pleasantly. "I was worn out, myself. Slept like a log."

Steve stared into his food with confusion. He thought he had done a decent job of keeping things under wraps, pretending things were still the same when they most certainly were not, and he couldn't imagine why Bucky was bringing things out into the open like this. "That's good, Buck."

Bucky hummed, setting his empty bowl aside and sitting casually with his arm on his knee. "It was all thanks to you, Stevie." Something fluttered inside Steve at the nickname, so familiar and intimate, and it succeeded in catching him off guard. Steve set his food aside. "But I feel as though I need to repay the favor."

Steve couldn't meet his eyes but he could feel Bucky watching him from across the fire. He knew if he looked up he would find dark eyes, more grey than blue, shrouded in an orange glow and ready to pierce right through him. Steve’s dick was fattening up already and his body hummed with anticipation.

"Can I repay the favor, Steve?" Bucky asked, so low and deep it felt as though he was whispering directly into Steve's ear. Steve hadn't expected Bucky to ask for something so bluntly, so outright, but he couldn't rightly deny the man. He found the courage to look at the man across from him and he met his gaze, stripped bare and wanting. Steve nodded slowly.

Bucky began to stand and before either of them had a chance to regret a thing, Steve rounded the fire to kneel in the dirt in front of Bucky, grasping at the front of his pants. He knew what Bucky wanted but he was desperate to get his mouth on him again. He would allow Bucky to repay the favor after he had gotten another taste.

"Steve," Bucky said, slightly breathy.

"It's alright," Steve said quickly, struggling with the trousers. “I want to."

“Steve, stop," Bucky said from above him, deep and sure, quickly cutting through Steve’s haze of arousal.

Steve froze and leaned back onto his heels, never meeting the man’s eyes. Perhaps Bucky had changed his mind, perhaps he had thought better of this. Steve mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before standing up and turning away.

An arm caught his elbow as he tried to escape and pulled him back roughly against the warm body behind him. "Would you just stop for one second?" Bucky's voice was dark and warm and right next to his ear and Steve was frozen where he stood. Bucky turned him slowly until Steve was facing him but Steve kept his eyes focused on Bucky’s chest, on the patch of dark hair that peeked through his shirt. Bucky’s strong, calloused hand grabbed Steve’s chin in a firm but gentle hold, and moved it to face him. His fingers stroked through Steve’s beard and he let out a quiet, restrained sigh. “What are we doing here, Steve?”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, not only at Bucky’s question but at why he was asking it. He thought it was pretty clear what they were doing, but Bucky wanted more—both in answer and in practice. Steve didn’t know if he could give him either.

For want of a better response—of any response—he shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched and Steve noticed suddenly how red his lips looked in the light of the fire. His eyes narrowed slightly and Steve knew he was disappointed in this answer but Steve was giving him everything he had. Standing here, trapped by Bucky’s gaze and the fingers on his jaw, Steve felt held open, more exposed than he ever had in his life.

“You know what I mean,” Bucky whispered, moving his thumb to stroke the smooth skin at the top of Steve’s cheek. “You know.”

Steve licked his lips and shook his head again. “I—”

“Do you want this, Steve?” Bucky asked, finally, decisively. His voice dropped low and his eyes were on fire and he said, “No one has to know.”

Steve trembled with raw, live-wire nerves and burning hot anticipation coursing through his body, and he held his breath as he nodded his head.

Bucky’s eyes grew impossibly darker and he leaned in, as slow as he could manage as he pressed his lips to Steve’s. And then they were kissing, frenzied and desperate and sweeter than all those times Steve had imagined it. They pressed hard against each other, abandoning any finesse in a desperate attempt to get the other as close as possible. They pulled at each other ineffectually, strong hands grasping wildly at shoulders and waists. After a moment, Bucky’s tongue swiped across Steve’s lips and Steve opened willingly, feeling heat explode inside of him at the slide of Bucky’s tongue.

Bucky’s lips were soft and demanding, and he quickly took charge of the kiss, holding Steve’s jaw in his hand and tilting him sideways. The stubble that had grown in on Bucky’s cheeks scratched lightly at his lips. It was frantic and messy and Steve moaned, high and breathy, as he pulled them together at the waists, feeling the hard bulge of Bucky’s cock pressing into his thigh.

Steve tried to slide his hand around to the front of Bucky’s frame, to get it right where he wanted it and get things moving, but Bucky stopped him. He slowed them down and pulled back, tracing Steve’s lips with his own a few times before pulling away. They stood, chest to chest, Bucky’s hand clutching Steve’s jaw again, struggling to catch their breath. Steve shot Bucky another look of confusion.

“I just—” Bucky started, before sighing. His thumb traced Steve’s bottom lip, which Steve was sure was plumped up and covered in spit. Bucky leaned in as if he couldn’t stop himself and stole another kiss. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I could sure show ya’,” Steve said with a half-grin, going for charming but coming up broke.

“That’s not what I mean,” Bucky said with a sigh, but Steve could see the whisper of a smile. “You’ve been actin’ like you don’t want anything to do with me these past couple days.” Steve frowned, but Bucky continued. “‘Cept after the sun goes down.”

Steve was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what Bucky was gettin’ at. “I thought that’s what this was,” he said slowly. Bucky looked at him, frowning in confusion. “Have you ever been with another fella before?” Steve asked, as kindly as he could manage.

Bucky licked his lips and said quietly, “Couple’a times.” Then added, even softer, “During the war.”

Steve tipped back his head, quickly understanding. “Well around here, most of the fellas I’ve been with don’t speak of what we do. Even when it’s just us. For fear of someone hearin’.” He paused, looking down and rubbing small circles on Bucky’s hip. “I’d get socked in the jaw if I ever brought it up and I might do the same to them. Can’t lose these jobs, Buck. It ain’t worth it.”

Bucky frowned but nodded. His head tilted slightly and a soft grin tugged at his lips. “Who’s gonna tell on us out here, huh? It’s just you and me, cowboy.” Steve shook his head and let out a breath, trying to come up with a decent response, but coming up empty. Bucky leaned forward, nuzzling into the soft hair on Steve’s cheek. “I want you, Steve, but I want _all_ of you.”

Something in Steve moved at the sound of that and he grit his jaw, trying to fight the feeling. _Damn this man._

“Aw, come on,” Bucky said teasingly, running his hand through the short hair at the back of Steve’s neck. “Don’t go all shy on me, now.”

“I’ll show you shy,” Steve said, gripping the back of Bucky’s neck and pulling him close for another kiss. This time, Steve caught his lip between his teeth and bit gently.

Bucky grinned like a fool against Steve's mouth. “There’s that mouthy fucker I been missin’.”

“Oh, you been missin’ me, Buck?” Steve asked, delighted at the prospect.

Bucky grinned even harder. “You said it yourself, I couldn’t stand to be rid of you.”

Steve’s heart lurched once more and they met in a kiss, this one far softer and gentler than the ones that came before. Steve thought he could melt his body down and slip inside of Bucky’s if he tried hard enough. Anything to get closer to this man before him.

They made out for a while, grasping at each other desperately, pressing as close as they could before Bucky finally found some sense and directed them to the blanket on the ground.

Steve was quickly divested of his shirt and Bucky took some time placing kisses and leaving trails of fire up and down Steve’s neck and chest. He paid close attention to Steve’s nipples, spending several moments licking and pinching them until they were hard and Steve was writhing. Bucky trailed his lips through the hair on Steve’s chest and rubbed the bulge in his own pants against the side of Steve’s thigh.

Steve was thrumming with pent up energy and arousal and he made quick work of the buttons on Bucky’s shirt. It draped over Bucky’s chest in waves of fabric and Steve finally got the chance to run his fingers over the hard lines of muscles, pulling and grabbing at Bucky’s pecs with loving adoration. But before Steve could slip the shirt off his shoulders and continue his exploration, Bucky pulled away. He looked down self consciously and motioned to his left shoulder. “Just don’t—”

“I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to,” Steve said quickly, desperate for Bucky to trust him.

“It’s just a little sensitive… Around the scars,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve nodded seriously, reaching up to run his hands through Bucky’s short, tousled locks, trying to take the attention off of Bucky’s arm and put it back onto the situation at hand. He figured Bucky was trying to do the same because when he finally shrugged off his shirt, he knelt down in the dirt, finding a spot to nestle up close between Steve’s legs.

By the time Bucky had Steve’s cock in his hand, Steve was just about shaking with want, hips making little half-thrusts into Bucky’s fist. He gave Steve a few short strokes, as if testing it out, admiring the weight in his hand, thinking about what he wanted to do to Steve. He paid Steve no mind while he did this, just hummed as he pulled at the foreskin and covered the head with his lips and tongue, and Steve’s mouth dropped open embarrassingly as he watched. Steve wanted him to choose for him, to use Steve for his own pleasure, take what he wanted from Steve without a second thought.

Steve dropped from where he leaned on his elbows and let his back hit the dirt, a filthy moan escaping him despite his best efforts. “ _Buck.”_

Bucky hummed and swallowed Steve down, stopping just before he hit the base of Steve’s groin. He set a steady pace and Steve whimpered at the wet, hot slide of Bucky’s mouth and the mind-numbing drag of his tongue. Bucky pulled off briefly, trailing his tongue down Steve’s shaft to trace the balls below. Bucky took his cock in his mouth once again but gave Steve’s balls a gentle tug, running his finger to press against the soft skin behind them.

“ _Ngh,”_ Steve moaned, “I want you inside me.”

Bucky groaned around the weight in his mouth. He looked up, letting the hard, straining cock fall from his mouth to Steve’s stomach. His eyes were dark as coal and Steve barely heard him as he said, “Gotta be careful what you ask for, pal.”

“Please, Buck,” Steve begged, well and truly panting now. The sight of Bucky’s soft mouth hovering over his dick, his fingers drifting closer and closer to where he wanted them, was just too much.

“You’re married,” Bucky muttered, almost a whisper, into the skin of Steve’s hip.

“Not yet,” Steve responded quickly.

Bucky breathed deep and shook his head, never looking Steve in the eye but gripping his hip and dragging his hand around to the curve of Steve’s ass.

“Engaged,” Bucky said instead.

“Just barely,” Steve said, a bit breathlessly and completely out of his mind.

A deep and quiet groan racked through Bucky as he trailed kisses from the bone at Steve’s hip to the soft skin at the base of his cock, dragging his tongue through the thick hair there. Testing himself. Torturing himself. _Just give in,_ Steve thought.

“ _Damn you,_ ” Bucky muttered.

Steve reached down and pulled Bucky up to lay on top of him. Bucky's arm bracketed Steve's face and he knelt between Steve's legs, causing them to raise and part. Steve shuddered at the delicious weight above him, at the firm, powerful muscles holding him down, and he cursed the damned trousers Bucky still wore. He gripped Bucky’s neck and kissed him soft and firm, as persuasive as he could manage as he said quietly, “Go on, Buck. I cleaned up real nice for you earlier.”

“You—” Bucky started, but cut himself off with a groan as he looked at Steve. “That’s where you went off to before dinner?”

“Done it for the past three nights,” Steve said with a shrug and a challenge. “Always hopin’.”

“ _Christ,”_ Bucky said through a breath, his eyes growing impossibly darker. That seemed to make the decision for him, finally. “Turn over.”

It was all frantic, hurried motion from there. Bucky finally stepped out of his pants and Steve had to stop himself from changing courses and taking a taste. Before lying down on the blanket, he rummaged through his pack, pulling out a small, half empty tin of slick, and passing it to Bucky. Bucky just shook his head, at this point unsurprised at Steve’s preparedness.

Before long, Steve was lying with his face on the thick wool blanket, ass in the air, displayed for Bucky in a way that made his heart race and his blood catch fire in his veins. Steve groaned at the first slow press of Bucky’s fingers inside him, delighted in the delicious burn of it, a feeling he was never able to fully capture by himself. Bucky was gentle, of course, taking his time stretching Steve open, whispering things that made Steve’s cheeks burn and his already hard dick leak with anticipation. _Christ Steve, look at you, you’re so pretty. Take it so well._

Bucky took his time and Steve urged him along however he could. “ _Jesus,_ Barnes, just fuck me already.” Steve begged breathlessly, pushing his ass back onto Bucky’s fingers. He grabbed his bundled up jacket for something to hold onto and buried his face into the fabric.

“Nah, I’m enjoying myself,” Bucky mused, pressing harder and angling his fingers to just barely brush a spot that stole the breath from Steve's lungs.

“ _Come on,_ Buck, I want you,” Steve panted. “I _need_ it.”

That seemed to do the trick and Steve reeled at the loss of contact when Bucky removed his fingers. Steve heard the clanking of the metal tin again and the distinct sound of Bucky slicking up his own cock. Bucky turned Steve on his side and he came to lay behind him, his thick body pushing Steve’s into the ground. Bucky gripped Steve’s jaw and brought him around for a wet and sloppy kiss, and if it wasn't for the insistent hardness pressing into his back, Steve would've lost himself in that alone.

Bucky’s lips left his before he could, though, and soon enough Steve felt a blunt pressure against his hole. Bucky’s hand, wet with slick, gripped Steve’s hip as he delved languidly between the slick cleft of Steve's ass and the tops of his thighs. “You’re sure?” Bucky whispered into Steve’s ear, mouthing at the sensitive skin.

“Please,” Steve breathed.

Steve tensed at the first press but forced himself to relax, to breathe through the pressure balancing on a knife’s edge with pain. The pressure grew and Steve could feel the hints of pleasure lick up his spine. Finally, Bucky’s balls met Steve’s ass and he stilled, breathing unevenly into Steve’s ear.

“ _Jesus,”_ Bucky grunted.

Steve’s body trembled, shaky and tingling the way it did when he was filled up like this. “It’s so much,” he whispered. He felt like Bucky was everywhere. The sweaty, musky smell of him filled Steve’s nose, his arm wrapped like a vice around Steve’s hip, and the sweaty skin of his broad chest slid against Steve's back. Steve felt trapped in the most delicious way, by the man he had been lusting after day and night.

Finally, _finally,_ Bucky began to move. Slowly, at first, until he built up into steady thrusts. Bucky was silent but Steve writhed underneath him, grabbing ineffectually at Bucky's arm, trying to find purchase. He settled with one hand gripped in his pack and the other on his cock, stroking off-rhythm from Bucky's slow and heavy thrusts.

Steve started to rock back into Bucky with every thrust, asking for more. Not at all subtle, but very much _Steve._ Bucky took the hint and leaned forward, turning until he could rise up on his knees behind Steve, who was now lying face down on the blanket, ass held in Bucky's grip. Steve whimpered when Bucky pulled out of him, but Bucky hushed him, squeezing the globes of his ass in comfort. "I'm right here," Bucky whispered, pushing back in, soothing Steve's whimpers with the press of his cock. "I know what you need," Bucky murmured, and Steve melted beneath his hands.

Truth be told he didn't know Bucky particularly well but this man was handling him, taking care of him in a way few had. He maneuvered Steve's body where he wanted it to be, pulling his ass into the perfect position, paying little mind to the whimpers coming from Steve's mouth. Bucky found the angle he wanted and thrusted, deep and hard. Though hesitant at first, Bucky Barnes had surely found his footing.

They set a new pace, Bucky's thrusts knocking the breath out of Steve's tired lungs as they both fell closer and closer together towards the edge. The obscene slap of wet skin on skin filled Steve's ears and he moaned, soft and high-pitched and completely uninhibited, as his orgasm began to lick at his spine.

"Buck," he gasped. "Bucky."

"Go on," Bucky grunted, voice as strained and desperate as Steve had ever heard it. "Let me see."

Steve's dick swung below him, aching and wanting, and after no more than two strokes he came, shooting onto the blanket with a grunt. The waves of pleasure shot through him, made his mouth drop open and his eyes close tightly, and he shook with the force of it. Bucky followed soon after, pulling out to shoot into the dirt beside them with a deep, guttural sound.

They took several moments, breathing heavily, allowing the world to readjust in front of them. Their faces were flushed red and their bodies were spent. Bucky pulled his sweaty body away from Steve’s, and sat back to catch his breath. Steve reached for his underwear, thrown haphazardly to the side, and used them to wipe the come from the blanket before collapsing on top of it, sated and bone-deep exhausted.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in the clear night air as deep as he could. He waited for Bucky to turn and leave, to head to the other side of the fire and ignore him the way Steve had come to expect, but when he opened his eyes, Bucky was still there. He sat at the edge of the blanket, leaning back on his heels, watching Steve with a hesitant gaze. His eyes shifted between Steve and the fire, the picture of uncertainty. It was in stark contrast to the self-assured man who had just taken everything Steve had to give.

Steve didn’t know what to say. This thing between them—raw and uniquely honest—was uncharted territory. They were standing atop a precipice and one of them would have to decide which way to fall.

Steve decided to follow Bucky’s lead and take what he could get.

Bucky turned to leave but before he could rise to his feet, Steve reached out a hand and grasped his shoulder. "Oh, come on," Steve said, easy as ever. He pulled Bucky to the ground and maneuvered him to wrap around Steve in a hug. "You fuck me like that, you can sleep anywhere you want, pal. Don't go shy on me now."

Bucky snorted and scooted closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's hip and Steve delighted in the close contact. They didn't bother with clothes, just grabbed another blanket from Bucky's bag to throw over their naked bodies. They faced the fire, which had thankfully dwindled to fading embers. Steve didn't think he could take the full force of the heat; he had enough at his back.

Bucky leaned forward to nuzzle his nose into the hair at Steve's neck and Steve sighed, savoring the shivers that raced up and down his back.

"You know what the best part about this is?" Bucky asked sweetly.

Steve's breath stuttered at the whisper next to his ear.

"What's that?"

Bucky bit the lobe of Steve's ear and said "I don't have to get up to go check on the cattle."

Steve tried to turn, to slap him upside the head but Bucky held him steady. "Fuck you, Bucky Barnes," he said, without any heat or venom but a whole lot of naked affection.

Bucky just laughed and pulled his body closer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains NSFW art by the incredibly talented talli

Bucky disagreed with his father on most things.

George Barnes was a quiet, pensive man with a stubborn streak a mile long. Most days they worked together easily, content in their routines and the work they had done together for most of Bucky’s life. But they had a hard time with change. His father thrived on tradition and the practices that had gotten him where he was in life. Bucky was young and naive and, naturally, thought he knew everything.

Bucky wanted to bring in new crops when the older ones were under-performing. His father thought that was too risky. Bucky wanted to bring in extra help during the harvest season to lighten their load. His father thought that was costly and unnecessary. It was an understatement to say they got in a fair few fights over the years.

His mother liked to tell him that he and his father were just too similar to work well together and Bucky liked to roll his eyes and say he was nothing like his father. He would huff dramatically and whine about how he couldn’t wait to be out on his own and make his own decisions.

But though his father was hard headed and stubborn as a mule, he was never cruel.

Once, when he was fifteen, Bucky and his father were arguing about something or another—he couldn’t even remember how it started but it was surely something stupid. Things got heated, the two of them flinging insults right and left, shouting until their faces turned red. Eventually Bucky stormed off but when he returned, his father was quiet. He expected the two of them to go about their day as they normally did, but his father stopped him before he could return to the field.

“James,” his father said, gripping his shoulder firmly, “don’t ever let anyone tell you how to be. Not even me.”

His father’s eyes were intent and piercing and Bucky tried to shove him off, averse to tender moments as most teenagers were, but his father held tight.

“Listen to me, son,” his father said and Bucky was startled by the sincerity in his voice. “When you become a man, you’ll make your own decisions and you’ll have to stand by them. Some will be right, some will be wrong, but they’ll be yours. But who you are,” he said, touching his hand to the center of Bucky’s chest, “no one can ever take that from you and _don’t you let them_.”

Bucky stood, wordless, staring into eyes that matched his own, as his father’s words rang in his ears. He didn’t have a response but it appeared George didn’t expect him to. He nodded, squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, and got back to work without a word.

Bucky’s father never elaborated and they never said another word about it. But the moment stayed with him for years. While he was at war, away from home for months on end he couldn’t remember the sound of his father’s voice, but he remembered that moment.

After he slept with Collin for the first time, he couldn’t shake the memory from his mind. His father’s insistence that he always be himself echoed in his ears and he often wondered how far that extended.

He wrestled with it, attempting to reconcile his father’s words with the reality of the world in which they lived and the turmoil that raged within him.

******

“What do you reckon Nelson sold these for?”

Bucky looked up from where he was twirling a long strand of grass between his fingers, and gave Steve a perplexed look. “No idea. It’s a good herd but Nelson’s a crook.”

Steve chuckled at that and nodded his head. He watched the herd in front of him, examining the possibilities, running through the numbers in his head. Bucky watched him with attention.

The two were sat in the shade of a great cottonwood tree, its massive reaching branches covered in foliage on its way from green to yellow. They had found a surprisingly green pasture somewhere outside Odessa, stubbornly holding onto its bright green grass against the coming of fall, so they had stopped to let the cattle graze and rest.

Bucky reclined in the tall grass and felt the blessed hint of a breeze roll through the field. Steve sat next to him, fiddling with his hat and running his fingers through his hair and beard. The man could never be still.

Steve was going on about the nature of the herd, about their health and stature and how much he thought he could get for them. “This fella in Abilene’s a fool if he pays any more than thirteen a head.”

Bucky hummed in agreement but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were trained on Steve’s lips and the pink that stood out against the honey brown of his beard. Every once in a while Steve’s tongue stuck out in concentration as he ran through the numbers. Bucky wanted to press his lips to Steve’s mouth, to feel him move against him. It took him several moments of watching Steve and feigning interest in the conversation to realize he _could._ So he scooted closer, shooting Steve a mischievous look the entire time. Steve watched him curiously but never stopped talking. Bucky smiled at that and brought his hand to Steve’s cheek, which finally shut him up mid-sentence. Bucky leaned forward and gave him a kiss, barely there and delicate soft. Steve’s mouth reached for more, velvet soft and wet with spit. Bucky captured Steve’s lip between his own and sucked lightly before tracing it with his tongue.

He pulled away, a little breathless but smiling the entire time, and Steve looked at him curiously.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“What, I can’t kiss you?” Bucky shot back.

Steve thought for a moment before a spark caught in his eye. “That depends.”

“On?”

“On what comes next,” Steve said with a raise of his eyebrow.

That shot straight to Bucky’s gut and he grinned as he pushed forward, covering Steve’s body with his own until they were both laid out in the grass. They pushed and pulled against each other, their movements familiar and easy.

Over the past three days, ever since Bucky had taken Steve next to the fire, making good on the heat that burned between them, they had scarcely been able to keep their hands off each other. There wasn’t a moment of rest where they weren’t wrapped around each other, half-clothed and delirious.

The cattle rested more often than they ever had in their lives and the dogs were surely getting tired of their antics. They started every morning with stupid smiles and ended every evening by taking each other apart. Their breaks for lunch went from minutes to hours and they watched each other like lovesick children throughout the day. There was still a job to do and they knew that, but they had been making good time and, frankly, they were entirely too wrapped up in one another to care.

Steve was shameless with his desire and he held nothing back. They stopped at a stream to bathe one day and when Bucky finished tying up the horses and came to join him, he found Steve sunbathing in the grass, his lily white ass shining in the sun for all the world to see. 

The previous night Bucky had fingered Steve for forty minutes straight—though Steve would’ve said it was hours—until Steve collapsed flat on the ground, boneless and gasping for air. Bucky straddled his thighs and fucked him until he was a whimpering mess with tears in his eyes.

They were enjoying their time together, to say the least, and thought nothing of the outside world, of its cruelties or expectations. The fog of delirious desire was heavy and thick and one Bucky didn't seek to disturb.

That night, Steve was messing with Bucky, poking and prodding him the way he liked to do when they were tangled together, high on happiness and arousal. He was questioning Bucky, wanting to know what Bucky had done with the men he had been with. 

“Did you fuck ‘em?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s lips were wrapped around Steve’s nipple and he hummed. “Mhmm.”

“Were they as good as me?” Steve asked with a grin and a challenge.

Bucky laughed. “You’re a glutton for punishment,” he said with a squeeze to Steve’s hip.

He had Steve laid out before him, bare and bathed in the light of the fire, and his lips traced every inch he could reach.

“Did you ever lick them?” Steve asked quietly, but with heat. Bucky paused and glanced up. A fire erupted deep in his gut at Steve’s words. “Where you fucked them?” Steve continued, his eyes boring into Bucky's.

Bucky'd never even thought of such a thing and the look on his face said as much. His affair with Colin, though dizzying and passionate, was short lived. Their moments alone never lasted long and they had little time to explore one another.

Steve’s eyes were burning where they locked onto Bucky and Bucky’s spine tingled with arousal. “Turn over,” he said darkly.

Steve did as he was told without a word, leaning on his elbows with his ass in the air and Bucky’s breath hitched in anticipation. Bucky grabbed the flesh of Steve’s right thigh and spread his legs further apart, putting Steve on display before him. It was lewd and obscene and Steve moaned before Bucky even got close.

Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s leg, feeling the soft hair there. He moved to one side of Steve’s ass and squeezed, pulling and pushing it apart. He tugged at Steve’s balls where they hung heavy underneath him, ignoring his achingly hard cock. Bucky took his time, savoring the moment and every inch of the man before him.

Steve whined in impatience and Bucky shushed him. If he wanted to torture Steve, he would. This was his only opportunity to get the upper hand and he took advantage of every moment.

Bucky gathered spit into his mouth and leaned forward, letting it drop onto Steve’s hole. Steve felt the spit slide down to his perineum and he moaned, loud and unrestrained. Bucky grinned and decided to finally take mercy on the man. He licked a long stripe across Steve’s hole and moaned. He could feel soft hair on his tongue and the supple skin beneath the rim. It smelled of soap and the musky, unmistakable scent of Steve.

Bucky covered him in an open mouth kiss, allowed the spit to gather and fall down the cleft of Steve’s ass. His tongue darted out to circle the rim before pushing gently and then insistently inside. He felt the pull of Steve’s muscles, soft but strong against his tongue, and his cock hardened further where it hung between his legs.

He was bowed before Steve’s body, back arched, head buried in the ass of the man before him. It was intimate and exhilarating and Bucky felt as though he might collapse under the heaviness of the moment.

His hand gripped Steve’s right cheek, pulling it to the side to dive his tongue even deeper and his movements caused Steve to melt like butter before him. His moans were louder and completely unashamed now, echoing into the darkness that surrounded them. He arched back, pushing his ass into Bucky’s waiting mouth.

Bucky enjoyed the sensation but the _thought_ that he was causing Steve to fall apart like this, that he pulled every moan and gasp from the man below him, that’s what made Bucky tremble and shake with arousal. 

His tongue trailed past Steve’s hole and took one of his balls into his mouth, rolling it and tugging on it. Steve begged for more but Bucky took his time. He kissed and licked at Steve for what could have been hours, losing himself at the sounds the man made, the tensing of his muscles, and the useless thrusting of his hips.

Eventually, Steve’s begging got the best of him and Bucky grabbed the bottle of lube stashed next to them. He fingered Steve open, quicker than he would’ve liked but they were both balancing on the edge of a wire and he didn’t know how much more they could take. When he finally slid inside, pleasure encircled him so entirely he could barely breathe. Steve lay face down on the blanket and when he turned to the side Bucky saw him, face flushed red, eyes squeezed shut. It could have been a look of pain if not for the breathless way he begged for more _._

Bucky started to fuck into him, watching the way Steve’s rim wrapped around his cock, pulling him in, always taking more. He was mesmerized by the sight. Steve grunted at every thrust, pushing back into him, taking everything he gave him. Bucky brought his hand to the small of Steve’s back, pressing so that his back arched and his legs spread lewdly. Steve gasped at the sensation and held the position, mouth falling open at Bucky’s thrusts. His ass was on display, perfectly placed and taking every inch of Bucky.

With a slight tilt of his hips, Bucky changed the position and pulled a sharp moan from Steve's lips. His face twisted in pleasure and he held his breath as Bucky picked up his thrusts, targeting the spot inside of Steve that made him fall apart so easily.

" _Bucky_ ," Steve gasped.

"Shh," Bucky soothed, leaning forward to rest his hand on Steve's shoulder and stroke the side of his neck. Steve gasped at the new angle and his knees started to slide out from under him, unable to hold himself up. Eventually he lay flat on the blanket and Bucky moved to straddle his hips, thrusting into his ass with renewed intensity. Steve started whimpering, his eyes were closed tight and his mouth hung open. And Bucky couldn't stop himself.

He leaned forward and slid two fingers into Steve's open mouth. Steve's lips instantly closed and he moaned around them. Bucky slid them in and out for a moment, fucking Steve's mouth in time with the movement of his hips. He kept Steve stuffed full at both ends, picking up the pace of his thrusts. Steve breathed harshly through his nose, his knuckles turning white where they gripped the folds of the blanket and Bucky never let up.

Bucky watched Steve fall apart in front of him. The wet squelch of his cock sinking into Steve’s ass filled his ears and Steve moaned around his fingers. Finally, when he couldn’t take any more, Bucky took his hand out of Steve's mouth and reached forward to wrap it around Steve’s neglected cock. He barely stroked, just squeezed the tip as he picked up his thrusts and Steve whined brokenly as he came.

Bucky's hips stuttered, feeling his orgasm tempt him at the base of his spine. He grabbed onto Steve’s shoulder for support and his thrusts turned hard and erratic. Steve took it all. “Come on, Buck,” Steve said, punched out and breathless. “Come inside me. I want it.”

Bucky groaned deep and felt his entire body shudder as he came suddenly and forcefully. He pushed deep into Steve and stilled, allowing his come to spill inside and Steve groaned at the feeling.

When he pulled out, he could see the come there, leaking out slowly like Steve was filled to the brim. He knew that Steve could feel it, and he stroked his spent cock and rubbed it against Steve’s hole, spreading the come lewdly.

When Bucky finally sat back on his knees, Steve pushed his aching limbs to turn himself over. Bucky laid down beside him, panting in exertion. They spent several minutes lying in silence until their breathing had slowed and their skin had cooled. When he felt he could manage it, Bucky stood to get a small towel and handed it to Steve to clean up. They both threw on shorts and collapsed back onto the blanket in exhaustion.

“That was something," Steve sighed. The smile that covered his face was easy and satisfied.

“Thanks to you,” Bucky said, turning his head to look at the man next to him. Steve’s cheeks were still pink and dewy with sweat and he was beautiful.

Bucky watched as he laughed heartily, staring at the night sky with delight. “Maybe that’s my calling. Share my knowledge with the world.”

“What a selfless humanitarian you are.”

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” Steve said in mock seriousness. It made Bucky roll his eyes but he laughed.

Bucky ran a hand across his chest, scratching at the hair there and turning his face away from Steve’s. “Where’d you hear of that, anyway?” he asked softly.

“Are you askin’ about my sex life, Barnes?”

“No I’m just—” Bucky floundered, unsure how to explain himself. “I’m just wondering where you heard of such a thing. Ain’t like you can read it in a book,” he finished, a little self consciously.

“Oh, you’ve researched this, have you?” Steve teased him.

“Fuck off,” Bucky said with a grin.

“Men can be very particular about what they want,” Steve said with a shrug. “You learn pretty quick.”

Bucky was surprised at that answer. In truth, he hadn’t thought much about Steve’s sex life but the man was clearly experienced. “Do you only sleep with men?”

“Mhmm.”

Bucky chewed on his lip, trying to decide how to word his next question. He wanted desperately to know so he eventually decided to just spit it out. “And how do you… arrange that?” he finally said.

“You mean how do I find them?” Steve asked, glancing at Bucky. He nodded. “Well usually I don’t find them. They find me.” Steve saw the confusion on Bucky’s face and clarified. “There’s a couple spots in town. If you go walking late at night, look at someone the right way, they’ll find you.” Steve turned back to look at the stars above them and Bucky’s mind was running a mile a minute. Steve ran a hand through his beard, pulling at his lips absentmindedly. “Gotta be careful who you run off with but it usually goes alright.”

It was all too simple for Bucky to believe. All these men—finding each other right under Bucky’s nose. He didn’t know how he’d never seen it.

Steve continued lightly, “Or if you’re lucky one of the men you work with will be a flaming queer who hides it just as well as you do. You'll figure each other out eventually.”

Bucky looked at him in surprise. “You’ve slept with other ranch hands?”

“Sure,” Steve shrugged. “Slept with an owner once,” he added with a grin.

“No shit.”

“Shit. We’re everywhere, Barnes.”

Bucky had never felt so clueless in his life. “I never knew.”

“No one does,” Steve said. “And that’s how it’ll stay.” He sounded resigned. Separated from it, in a way that Bucky thought he was starting to understand. Steve shook his head suddenly, his expression turning dark. “Don’t take my advice, Barnes.”

“What?”

“Don’t go walking late at night. Go find you a pretty girl. One you can kiss in public.”

“I don't—that’s not what I want,” Bucky said without thinking.

“You don’t know what you want,” Steve muttered. “But you have a choice. So use it.”

Bucky said nothing, too caught off guard by the tone of Steve’s voice. He didn’t think Steve was right about what he said, but he wasn’t ready to push. But Steve’s statement implied something else—that if Bucky _had_ a choice, Steve didn’t. And he wondered if Steve had ever had a choice.

******

“Now, all that can’t be necessary,” Steve griped as Bucky pulled out a heap of medical supplies.

“Steve, you have a _gash_ in your shoulder. It needs to be stitched up,” Bucky told him sternly. He manhandled Steve into a position that suited him, pulling at Steve’s waist until he was happy. They sat atop a large boulder in the middle of the plains, the cattle and horses resting for now.

They had been riding along just fine until one of the younger cows decided to break away from the herd and into a line of trees and shrubbery. Steve had done what he believed to be the responsible thing and followed it directly into the mess, only to come out covered in scrapes with a large cut on his shoulder where a broken branch had caught him. He still stood by his decision and thought Bucky was playing up the dramatics, but the sight of more than a little blood made him give up control of the situation.

“It’ll be alright,” Steve said, as light and easy as he could manage.

Bucky snorted. “Says the guy turning purple.”

“I’m fine!” Steve insisted.

“Would you just hold still?” Bucky demanded, pulling out a needle and some gauze. Steve looked away.

“You’re just gonna make it worse,” Steve said stubbornly.

“ _Christ,_ you’re such a child,” Bucky complained, focusing on his work intently.

“Quit pokin’ me,” Steve griped.

“I would if you would just _hold still_ ,” Bucky insisted.

Steve laughed to himself, pleased at his ability to rile Bucky up. He stayed quiet while Bucky got started and kept his eyes on the sun sinking into the horizon. The sky put on a show just about every night out here but the radiating streaks of reds and oranges were particularly dazzling tonight.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Steve asked, because he couldn’t keep quiet for anything.

Bucky’s mouth twisted in thought. “You want the cute answer or the real answer?”

Steve grinned and pretended to think about it. “Hmm. Cute.”

Bucky smiled, clearly pleased. “My sisters and I used to have some pretty intense competitions on the farm. Got used to bandaging them up when they couldn’t keep up.”

Steve grinned wide. “That sounds awful cruel of you, Buck.”

“Oh, don’t weep for them. I had my fair share of injuries. They were conniving little tricksters,” Bucky said, with all the seriousness of a brother scorned.

That made Steve laugh, which made Bucky shush him to keep still. Steve indulged him but only for a moment. “What’s the real answer?” he asked softly.

Bucky paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Medic training. France.”

Steve nodded. He expected as much but that didn’t make it any easier to hear and it didn’t stop the memories from coming.

Steve decided to break the tension. “Least I’ll always have a medic to patch me up,” he said with a grin and realized a moment too late what he was implying. Bucky paused what he was doing. Steve’s stomach fluttered at the thought of always having Bucky around. He knew he should take it back but he didn’t know how, didn’t know if he could find the words. He wondered if Bucky heard the meaning laced within his words.

If he did, he didn’t show it. Bucky resumed his work on Steve’s shoulder and grinned. “You sure as hell need one with all the stupid shit you pull.”

******

“ _Damn_ these are good.”

Bucky looked at Steve where he sat next to him in front of the fire shoving pieces of biscuit into his mouth and smiled. “Glad you like ‘em.” He crumbled up his own biscuit and used a piece to sop up the bean stew in his bowl. The thick dough stuck to his mouth and filled his stomach with warmth.

“You must’ve worked a chuck wagon ‘cause these ain’t half bad.”

“First they’re good, now they just ain’t half bad?” Bucky asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Can’t let your head get too big there, Barnes.” Steve said seriously.

Bucky shoved him affectionately and almost pushed him off the rotting old log they were using as a bench. He had decided that night they were deserving of a rare treat—cornmeal biscuits baked over the fire. In truth, they weren’t much of anything back home, but out on the trail they tasted like heaven.

“Never worked on a chuck wagon,” Bucky said once he had finished chewing. “I had a fiancée once; she taught me the recipe.”

Steve looked up at that. “You were engaged?”

Bucky nodded. “I was,” he said as he took another bite. “Her name was Irene.”

“What happened?” Steve asked gently and Bucky knew he wasn’t trying to pry.

Bucky shrugged. “War. Life.” He thought honestly with himself for a moment. “Me.”

Steve nodded. “That tends to happen.”

Bucky hummed. “She deserved much better than me.”

Steve looked at him thoughtfully. “How do you reckon?”

With anyone else, Bucky would’ve stopped there. He wasn’t a particularly open man on the best of days, much less with a man he barely knew. Hell, with anyone else he wouldn’t have even mentioned Irene. But this was Steve. And the truth came faster and easier than he ever expected.

He told Steve about Irene but he also told him about Collin, about the war, about coming home. He spoke quietly but without fear and Steve watched without judgment and with what could have been admiration if Bucky looked closely enough.

Afterwards, they sat quietly by the fire, munching on the last few biscuits and staring into the fire in contemplation. Bucky couldn’t stop thinking. He ran his boot through the dirt, trying to convince himself to stay quiet. It didn’t work. They couldn't just keep dancing around this. He needed to know more and if he had to beg for it, he would.

“You ever gonna tell me about her?” he finally asked.

Steve’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t look up from his food. “About who?”

Bucky scoffed. “Don’t play dumb with me, Steve. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Sharon is a good person,” Steve said finally.

“As well as the woman you’re engaged to marry,” Bucky said immediately.

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

Bucky almost laughed. “Well I can’t imagine she’d take too kindly to what we’re doing out here.”

Steve turned on him. “Is there a reason you presume to know more about my fiancée than me?”

“Well I’d know an awful lot more if you’d tell me about her,” Bucky shot back. Steve turned away and stared into the fire, shaking his head. Bucky thought for a moment that he’d gone too far, and perhaps he had, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. His guilt was the only thing breaking through the fog of happiness and it hadn’t stopped gnawing at him for days. He waited another moment before saying hesitantly, “You said before… that things were different between you. That it wasn’t like I thought.”

“They are,” Steve said quickly. Bucky watched Steve, waiting for more. The man’s expression was dark and contemplative as he stared into the fire. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. Her father was the rancher my mother worked for. We grew up together.”

“Childhood sweethearts?” Bucky asked lightly—and a bit bitterly if he were being honest with himself.

Steve laughed at that. “No. Sharon always had some boy or another comin’ around the farm. Truthfully, she had several boyfriends her father didn’t know about but us farm hands never told.” The barest hint of a smile touched Steve’s lips and Bucky could tell his eyes were miles away. “We were just close friends, more like siblings than anything else. I knew I’d be hung dry if I ever showed any interest. She eventually found a man she really loved and she planned to marry him but he was shipped off and never came back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bucky said.

“It’s alright, I didn’t even know the guy. I left the ranch before she ever met him.”

Bucky waited before asking the obvious question. “So… how did you end up together?”

Steve brought a hand up to run through his beard contemplatively. “After I shipped home, I wandered for a while. Moved all over Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma. Just couldn’t sit still. Eventually I made my way back to the ranch, over in Fort Stockton. And she was there.” He stopped again and rubbed his palms against his pants, as if to dry them. His face was stricken. “She was so sad. I’d never seen her so down before. She had no interest in finding another man and she was worried it was too late anyways. Curse of the old maid and all that. So she asked me to ask for her hand.”

“And her father accepted?”

“Hard to believe, huh?” Steve said with a self deprecating grin. “Guess I’m quite the catch,” he said bitterly, without the self-satisfied act he usually put on. “I think he mellowed in his older years,” he explained. “War’ll do that to a man. I think he just wanted her to settle down. Probably would’ve said yes to anyone.”

Bucky took this in, mulling over the information in his head, and itching to reach out and grab Steve’s hand. He resisted. “And you?”

“What about me?” Steve asked.

“Why did you say yes?”

Steve said nothing and Bucky watched his jaw clench—in frustration, concentration, Bucky wasn’t sure.

“I’ve been wanderin’ for a long time, Buck. People aren’t meant to live this way. Alone.” Steve was quiet and resigned. A sadness that penetrated so deep it didn’t even register anymore. “I wanted to settle down too. I know you probably don’t believe that but I wanted that for myself too. _I_ want to be happy, too.”

“I know Steve,” Bucky said, and he did. Of course he did.

“I want that perfect life just like anyone else,” Steve said, like he was trying his damnedest to convince Bucky, or maybe just convince himself. “I want to be married with little ones running around. Just because I’m not... _built_ for it don’t mean I don’t want it,” He said angrily, fidgeting with his hands and clenching his jaw.

“I know, Steve,” Bucky assured him.

“No—” Steve shook his head, his fists clenched tightly, “—you don’t. You had someone. You loved her.”

“Yeah and I _lost_ her, Steve.”

“You could have that again,” Steve said, unreasonably sure of himself.

“You think I don’t know what this feels like?” Bucky asked, frustrated now. The fire was warming his heated cheeks beyond contentment.

“It’s different,” Steve said, shaking his head. He still wouldn’t look Bucky in the eyes.

“No it’s not.”

“It’s different.”

“How?” Bucky demanded.

“You don’t have to—” Steve stopped, looking out at the horizon as if searching for the right words, “— _have_ _this._ You can choose something else.”

“Stop presuming to know what I want, Rogers.”

“I’m not, I just—you have the choice, Buck.” He took a deep breath, settling himself and his anger. “You have a choice.”

Bucky waited, watching Steve where he watched the fire. He tried to understand, tried to see where Steve was coming from. But that didn’t change the way he felt. “Well then why don’t you let me make that choice?” he finally asked.

The question hung between them for longer than was comfortable. Bucky was gearing up for another fight when Steve sighed, resigned. “Alright.”

Bucky grabbed his canteen and took a drink for something to do. He focused on steadying his breath, calming the anger that had spiked.

They had reached a truce and Bucky decided he wouldn’t press further. He couldn’t say he was content with it but at least he knew where they stood, tenuous as it may be.

They sat unmoving for a long time, warmed by the heat of the flames and their own frustrations. Bucky calmed eventually, and gazed out into the pasture, barely lit by the sliver of the moon that shone above them. He expected Steve to leave, to go check on the cattle or just get up and walk away without a word. But Steve, unpredictable as he was, leaned over and rested his head on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky's heart constricted tightly and he turned towards Steve's warm body, opening his posture and welcoming the man in. He rested his cheek on Steve's head and breathed in the smell of him, trying to hold himself steady. A breeze rolled through the pasture, rustling the tall grass in the darkness of the night and there was nothing but the stars to watch the two men, twisted and folded in on each other, holding on to what they had found with all their might. 

******

Steve and Bucky were discovering that they had a tendency to get themselves into troublesome situations.

The truth was, Steve had always had a knack for getting himself into trouble and perhaps he had pushed this bad habit onto Bucky in the two weeks they had known each other. But perhaps Bucky egged him on and encouraged him in a way that no one ever had. Perhaps they brought out something in one another that could only end in trouble.

It was an innocuous thing. Words with no weight to them, whispered between lovers in the quiet of the night.

The canyon was illuminated by the glow of the moon and the small fire that warmed the two boys laid close beside it on the rough wool of a saddle blanket. The night seemed to envelope them, to hold them close where they burrowed into each other with flushed cheeks and easy smiles. The soft hair of Bucky’s legs brushed against Steve’s where they were tangled together and Bucky’s fingers traced through the small patches of hair on Steve’s chest. Steve hummed in contentment as the fire crackled quietly beside them. 

They wouldn’t last long out in the open of the cool summer night, would eventually bundle up in warmer layers but for now—after what they had gotten up to—the breeze soothed their hot skin and slowed their beating hearts. 

Gazing at the great sky above them Bucky asked, “Do you ever think there’s more out there?” 

Steve frowned, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What, like God?”

“No, dipshit. Like aliens. Other lifeforms,” Bucky replied. 

Steve huffed out a breath of true exasperation. “Lord almighty.”

Bucky’s head lifted from Steve’s shoulder to stare at him pointedly. “What, you mean to tell me you think about God all the time? You ask him for forgiveness for all your terrible sins?”

Steve huffed again, almost a laugh this time. “No, I know what he thinks of me. I don’t much care.”

“What do you mean you know what he thinks of you?” Bucky turned to face Steve now, resting across the strong muscles of Steve’s chest. 

“Look at me, Buck. I’m as queer as Texas is hot. I know what he thinks of me.”

This didn’t sit right with Bucky, and he leaned against Steve’s chest as he challenged the other man. “So you presume to know what the almighty God thinks of you? That’s awful big of you, Steve.”

Steve snorted, unimpressed at Bucky’s questioning. “No, but I hear what people say.”

“Well I’ll tell you what I say. I say you’re plum stupid, Steve Rogers.”

Steve let out a laugh, forever surprised at the gall of this man. “Says the fella who thinks little green men are gonna come fallin’ out of the sky.”

“That’s more likely than God punishing you for who you are,” Bucky said, with more confidence than he was worth. 

“Who I am?”

“That’s right.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Bucky thought for a moment and his response came to him faster and easier than he expected. “Well, you said you’ve always been this way right?”

Steve stared at the sky above him, the endless abyss that knew his every secret. “I suppose.”

“Sounds to me that’s just how God made ya’,” Bucky said, as if it were that simple. 

“God made me a queer?” Steve questioned, unconvinced. 

“God made you exactly who you are. If he makes no mistakes why would he make you a queer?”

Steve was silent for a while. Then, “You sure do an awful lot of thinking about God for somebody who don’t believe in him.”

“I like to ponder big questions, Stevie. You should try it sometime,” Bucky said, a teasing grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But don’t hurt yourself.” He laid his cheek against Steve’s chest once more, nuzzling in the soft hair and flushed skin. 

Steve propped his head on his bent elbow and pretended to take Bucky seriously. “Hmm… big questions like why I spend time with such a contrarian like yourself?”

Bucky nodded serenely, “Yes, why do you suppose that is?”

Steve mouth pulled down in concentration. “I gravitate towards fools.” Bucky felt him shrug underneath him. “Maybe it’s pity.”

A laugh bubbled up in Bucky’s chest and he surged forward, unable to stop himself. He stole a kiss and stayed there, hovering close to Steve’s face. “You’re enamored with me, Rogers. Bewitched by my charm.”

Steve’s lips were warm and curved into a smile when he pressed them to Bucky’s. “I’m just taking what you’re giving me, Barnes,” he murmured.

Bucky’s brow furrowed but he stayed close to Steve’s face. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Steve’s eyes sparked with mirth. “You can’t keep your hands off me.”

Bucky laughed, quick and easy. "You think I'm the reason we find ourselves naked in the middle of a pasture every day?"

"Absolutely," Steve said, trying to hold in his laugh.

“You’re crazy pal. I have more self control in my left pinkie than you have in your whole body.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, meeting Steve’s challenge with enthusiasm. “See if I even touch you tomorrow.”

That was where it began. A frivolous, meaningless bet between lovers. Just a few words spoken to stoke the flames that burned between them.

Bucky didn't even last the day, of course, but he tried. He stopped himself from watching Steve as they dressed for the day, kept himself from kissing pink lips or reaching for calloused fingers. It was much more difficult than it should have been and that irked him.

Steve shed his shirt sometime midmorning, at the first note of heat. He rode shirtless for a time, his rippling muscles fully on display as he gripped the reins and held tight to the horse with the strength in his thighs. The sight was unholy and entirely outside the terms of their agreement, Bucky was sure. By the time they stopped to let the cattle drink from a stream, Bucky held barely an ounce of resolve. 

Steve's trousers had sunk low on his hips without his suspenders to hold them up, and the top of his ass was showing, firm and pale in the bright Texas sun and that was all it took.

It was nothing they hadn't done a dozen times before. Kissing and feeling each other up under the midmorning sun, alone and completely wrapped up in one another. There was no reason it should've ended the way it did.

The only thing going through Bucky’s head as he pushed Steve up against a tree and started pulling at his trousers as his mouth trailed down his throat, was _Steve_. Not the sound of galloping horses, nor the sound of whistles in the distance, and certainly not the shouts of the cowboys that had just ridden over the ridge next to them. His only thoughts were _Steve, Steve, Steve._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussions on homophobia, including the use of a slur.
> 
> It also contains art from the ridiculously talented talli

Steve had been caught in more precarious positions than he liked to admit.

He had been caught necking with girls behind the church when he was young and careless and trying to prove something to himself. There had been more than a few close calls with Miguel on the ranch and he had made several narrow escapes from dark alleys in town. He had had shots fired at his ass and threats screamed at his back. He had learned to be more discreet over the years because if he were to be found with the wrong person or in the wrong place, things could go south before you knew it.

This was nothing like that.

Steve heard the other cowboys coming as soon as they crossed the ridge and he shoved Bucky off from where he had latched onto Steve’s throat. Steve reached for his shirt where it was draped over his horse and began buttoning it up while Bucky looked on in confusion. Steve nodded towards the group of men and realization dawned on Bucky’s face, followed by the red tint of a blush and a look of certain fear. Thankfully they had stopped near a line of trees and Steve didn’t think the men had seen anything but he prepared himself for the worst either way.

“Howdy there,” one of the men called as they rode up.

“Afternoon,” Steve called casually, with a tip of his hat. He kept his face blank and plastered on a polite smile for good measure. Bucky had returned to his horse to fiddle with something on his saddle but he nodded at the men in acknowledgement. There was still fear in his eyes, if you knew what to look for.

“You boys from the Nelson ranch?” the man asked. His face remained pleasant enough and Steve relaxed slightly at the simple question. One of the other cowboys eyed Steve and Bucky with a drawn brow and a hint of suspicion but Steve ignored it. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

“That’s right,” Steve responded lightly. He decided to steer the conversation as long as he was able to. “You’ll have to excuse me, I must’ve lost my head some fifty miles back—whereabouts are we?”

“This here’s George Mesa’s property. You’re a way’s outside Midland.”

Steve nodded appreciatively. He had finally finished buttoning his shirt and was situating his suspenders back on his shoulders. “Suppose the cattle have rested long enough,” Steve said, nodding at the herd behind him. “We’ll just be on our way.”

“Y’all don’t need to freshen any of your supplies?” the man asked with a hint of suspicion.

While Steve would’ve killed for some fresh meat and eggs, he wanted to escape from this situation as soon as possible—before one of the cowboys got to thinking about what they really saw as they rode up. So he shook his head. “I think we’re all set,” he said brightly, patting the side of his horse.

The man looked at him curiously, before pulling the reins and backing his horse away. “Alright then. Y’all take care.”

“You do the same.”

The cowboys finally rode away and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. The knot that had formed in his stomach began to loosen and he leaned against his horse appreciatively. “That was a hell of a close call, huh?” he asked Bucky, a crooked grin on his face.

But Bucky hadn’t stopped staring at the men as they rode away, furrowed brow and intense expression still fully in place. “Mhmm.”

Steve figured he was still a little shaken up from the close call so he decided not to push for the time being. He reckoned Bucky would take some time to calm down, realize there was nothing to be worried about, and be back to his normal self before noon.

Unfortunately, that’s not what happened.

Bucky remained quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the day. He didn’t seem overly upset but his body was tense and his eyes were far away. Steve tried to break through the cold exterior; tried to weasel his way beneath the facade to find the charming man he knew was there but he was shut out every time

They made good time on the trail, most likely because they hadn’t stopped for any extended lunch breaks nor had they meandered slowly behind the herd, talking and teasing each other with easy grins. 

“Thought it was finally going to rain there for a while,” Steve commented, dragging an old stump to the edge of their newly made fire to sit down. He stretched his legs out in front of him, soothing the ache in his tired muscles.

He waited for a response from Bucky but got only a noncommittal hum. Steve watched as he tended to the fire, watching over their food as it cooked. His cheeks were still red from the sun and his short curls were pushed down from hours of wearing his Stetson. He used the bandana around his neck to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Steve’s eyes tracked every movement, searching for an answer and coming up short.

“I’m sure I’d grow tired of it after just a few minutes,” Steve began with a grin, “but a rainstorm does sound awful refreshing, doesn’t it?”

Bucky didn’t even hum this time, just nodded his head absently.

“I’d take any relief from this damn heat,” Steve complained idly, sure that his rambling had to elicit a response eventually. He was right, but not in the way he had hoped. “But I’m sure I’ll be singing a different tune come December.”

Just as he was about to launch into a no-doubt fascinating tale about one of the winters of his youth, Bucky looked up, a sour expression on his face. “What are you so peppy for?”

Steve stared at him with what he was sure was a stupid look of surprise before frowning. “What are you so down for?” Bucky looked away, his face a picture of frustration, but didn’t say a thing. Steve’s gut twisted sharply with the thought of where this was going. He had been down this road before and he didn't care to revisit it. A flash of something--more hurt than anger--burned in his chest. “Ever since those fellas rode by you’ve been acting funny. What, you get spooked? You gonna act like you don’t know me now?”

Bucky shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”

“There's no one out here but us and the livestock, pal,” Steve said with his arms stretched wide and a sarcastic grin on his face. It turned bitter as he said morosely, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your dirty secret.”

“Did you see the way they looked at us?” Bucky asked and it cut right through Steve’s sarcasm. He heard the shame and the sadness behind Bucky’s words and he didn’t know what to say. “And the way you shoved me away—”

“What did you want me to do, Buck?” Steve asked, allowing the reality of the situation to settle in. “Let them see what we were doing?”

“No, I just—” Bucky stopped and let out a breath, running his hand through his hair frustratedly.

Steve understood, but there was nothing he could say. “It is what it is.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“Alright.”

“We shouldn’t have to hide.”

Steve sighed, feeling older and more weary than he ever had in his life. “I’m not having this conversation.”

“Why not?” Bucky demanded.

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” Bucky said indignantly, sitting up straight and fixing Steve with a glare.

“I’m telling you it doesn’t.”

“Why?”

Steve sighed and poked at the fire. “Those men,” Steve started, his face twisting in a grimace, “they just wouldn’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” Bucky demanded. “What’s it got to do with them?”

Steve shook his head, turned to grab his pack and set to arranging his bed roll.

“Why aren’t you more pissed about this?” Bucky demanded.

Steve’s fuse was running short and Bucky was set on testing it. “Why should I be? What’s it gonna change?” Steve asked bitterly, staring at Bucky expectantly. “ _Christ_ , you got no idea how any of this works.”

Steve could see how much that angered Bucky but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. This conversation had been tiresome from the beginning and Steve had very little patience left. Of course he was pissed, _of course he was._ He’d been pissed for the last decade of his life and where did that get him?

“It ain’t right,” Bucky said determinately, his eyes blazing with righteousness. “We aren’t meant to live this way.”

Steve chuckled ironically. “I’m sure a lot of folks would agree with you on that one.”

“Quit being an ass.”

“Quit being obtuse,” Steve shot back, perhaps a bit too forcefully. His heart was racing now and he was sure his face was burning red. “You think I haven’t had this conversation? You think I haven’t been down this road before? Go ahead, ask me how it turned out.” Bucky shook his head, exasperated. “Why do you think I’ve moved around so much, Bucky? For a change of scenery?”

“Then how did you meet all those men?” Bucky pressed, eyes blazing. “It ain’t just us, Steve!”

“Course it ain’t,” Steve said, face twisting into a scowl. “But that doesn’t change a thing.”

“Stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Just leave it be,” Steve said decisively.

“How can you say that?”

“Because you’re _spoiling it,_ ” Steve said, surprising himself with the emotion in his voice.

Bucky was quiet, but only for a moment. “Spoiling what?” he asked and his voice was softer, devoid of the venom that laced it a moment ago.

Something pinched Steve’s chest painfully and he couldn’t look up, couldn’t face the man across from him. “What we have. Here. Right now.” He was desperate for Bucky to understand.

“And what are we to do?” Bucky’s voice was smaller now. “Carry on like we have been and pretend this all ain't about to end in a few days?”

Steve looked up finally, eyes pleading. “Yes.”

Bucky stared at him, unmoving. “Just because you’ve given up, doesn’t mean I have to,” he said firmly. His eyes were dark and blazing and Steve could feel his persistence from across the fire. “Who I love is nobody’s business but my own.”

Steve’s chest constricted tightly, his heart beating wildly and he felt his body freeze. His eyes widened and he could do nothing but stare at the man across from him, bared open and beautiful in his anger. “Who you love?”

Bucky stared back, unafraid, but he ignored Steve’s question. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Steve could feel his heartbeat where it thrummed under his skin, like a pack of wild horses thundering down a hill. He was staring so closely that everything else—the horses, the camp, the fire—disappeared until it was just Bucky, filling his vision and flooding his mind. “No, there’s not,” he said resolutely.

Bucky stared back until he felt satisfied with Steve’s honesty and then turned back to the fire, gaze unfocused, breathing heavily as he stoked the flames.

Steve knew in his heart there was nothing they could do. He knew the reality of the world in which they lived—had seen its flaws personally and intimately for most of his life. He knew all the righteous anger in the world couldn’t change a thing. Logically, he knew he was right. But the thing was, it didn’t feel like he was.

******

They were quiet throughout dinner, with only the scraping of their bowls and sound of the herd in the distance to fill the silence. Steve’s mind was racing. He decided to get up and check on the cattle, just for something to do. He meandered out into the dark pasture, letting each step to calm his frantic nerves.

Thankfully, the Mesa ranch had allowed them to set up camp in one of their fenced pastures, so the cows were put up and Steve and Bucky could each get a full night’s sleep. The past few days had seen very little sleep for either one of them so the break was welcomed.

Steve walked through the tall grass, smiling at one of the dogs who had followed him. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and closed his eyes, trying to shake the memories that had surfaced from their earlier conversations. If Steve could make Bucky understand, he would. But he couldn’t break Bucky’s hopefulness and, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to.

Eventually he made his way back to camp, relaxed and easy once again. He walked up to find Bucky lounging on a saddle blanket next to the fire, his elbow crooked behind his head, staring into the night sky.

Steve fished his flask out of his pack and took a sip, shivering as the warm liquid burned its way down his throat. He watched Bucky, expecting him to say something or at least roll over and go to sleep, but he never did. He was staring intently at the sky.

“You finding the secrets of the universe up there?” Steve teased him.

Bucky looked over with a small grin, clearly pleased that things may be going back to normal. “Maybe so,” he said.

“You think you’ll share ‘em when you get ‘em?” Steve asked, settling onto an old stump by the fire.

“Depends,” Bucky started, never looking away from the stars. “You gotta know how to read these secrets.”

Steve couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the look in the other man’s eyes, bathed in the light of the fire. “Teach me,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky gestured for Steve to join him and Steve went immediately. He settled next to Bucky on the blanket, their shoulders touching lightly. Steve itched to curl himself around Bucky, to get as close to the man as possible, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Finally, he looked away from Bucky and into the sky.

It was as beautiful and as breathtaking as ever. The night sky was truly something to behold out on the trail. There were no trees or mountains or houses to obstruct it, no artificial light to drown it out. It was enormous and everlasting and Steve could only stare.

“You see that bright one over there?”

Steve followed Bucky’s indication and saw the star at the end of where his finger pointed. Well, in truth he saw thousands of stars and didn’t think one was particularly brighter than the others but he nodded his head anyway.

“That’s the North Star,” Bucky said. “It always points north, no matter what time of year. So you can always orient yourself.”

“What if I don’t want to go north?” Steve said, just to be a contrarian.

Bucky reached over and flicked the side of his head. “Use a compass, you moron.”

“Hey!” Steve protested, really putting on the drama of his injury by finger flick. “I just figured we were talking about the ancient days, before anyone had compasses.”

Bucky gave him a long suffering look. “If you know which direction north is, you can figure out the rest,” he said and Steve’s mind finally caught up. “But if that’s too much trouble for you, you can use Orion,” he said, pointing to another corner of the sky. Steve looked closely as Bucky showed him the constellation, pointing out the vague shape of a hunter it made, sword and shield in hand. “Orion rises in the east and sets in the west, so maybe you’ll be able to figure that out.”

“What a kind and patient teacher you are, Buck,” Steve said with a teasing grin.

“According to the story he was the greatest hunter that ever lived,” Bucky continued, refusing to give in to Steve’s antics. “One day he said he would prove himself by killing every living creature on Earth.”

“That seems a bit excessive,” Steve pointed out.

“The Gods thought so too. So to punish him, they sent a giant scorpion to kill him.”

Steve snorted. “A scorpion is supposed to kill the greatest hunter of all time? Hell, I’ve killed dozens of those myself.”

“It’s _giant,_ Steve,” Bucky said with a withering look. “Like, bigger than a bull.”

Steve shrugged easily. “Eh, I could still take it.”

“I’m sure you could, pal,” Bucky said placatingly. “But Orion couldn’t—the scorpion killed him. As further punishment, the gods placed him in the sky along with the scorpion, destined to be hunted for the rest of time. See, Orion is visible for half the year but when winter comes, the scorpion chases him out of the sky.”

Steve hummed, his eyes moving from star to star, thinking about all the things Bucky has to share, about how much there is that he doesn’t know about Bucky. Then he noticed something.

“That’s the big dipper,” he pointed out proudly.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement, because of course he knew that.

“What’s the story behind that one?” Steve asked.

“It looks like a spoon,” Bucky said simply.

Steve looked at him dubiously. “Well, that’s not very interesting.”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s not. But it’s part of a much more interesting constellation. See, if you connect those stars underneath it,” Bucky leaned close to Steve, pointing them out and his breath washed over Steve’s face, “it kind of looks like a bear. Almost every culture in the world saw it as a bear, dating back thousands of years.”

“Huh.”

“According to the ancient Greeks, a beautiful queen had a child with a god. That made the other gods jealous so they cursed her by turning her into a bear so that she could never see her child again. Her son was distraught at the loss of his mother. He grew up to be a warrior and a very skilled hunter. And he never stopped looking for her.”

Steve was quiet and he saw Bucky look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the stars. His mind was very far away, on a ranch in Fort Stockton with a storm brewing in the distance.

“Did he ever find her?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes. But he didn’t realize it was her—he thought it was a bear attacking him. So he killed her.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking away from Steve’s face and back to the stars. “The gods felt so bad about this that they turned her son into a bear as well and placed them both in the heavens. See there?” he asked, pointing to another cluster of stars, similar in shape but smaller. “So that she can always look after him.”

Steve said nothing, too wrapped up in the story to come up with some clever joke. He knew there were stories about such things but growing up as a ranch hand, he didn't have much access to proper schooling. The personal tutor of the family he worked for made time for him when she could, but she never would've taught him anything like this.

"Where'd you learn all this?" He asked Bucky.

Bucky shrugged. "Books. Every time my dad and I went to town I made him stop by the library."

Steve considered that. "I wish you could've gone to college. Sounds like you would've done real well."

Bucky smiled, a bit sadly but it was genuine. "That's alright. If I'd gone to college I wouldn't have gotten to know your dumb ass.” 

Steve knew what he meant and knew that neither one of them could say the words. But he was grateful that Bucky would say such a thing and even more grateful to know that he meant it.

“Well, thank god you got to know me,” Steve said with a pleased smile. He turned on his side to face Bucky and reached up to run his fingers through Bucky’s short curls, amazed at the intimacy they had managed to create between them.

“Thank god I'm well equipped to handle your shit,” Bucky teased. He turned to face Steve as well and they both scooted closer to each other, without even realizing it.

"You do handle me pretty well, that's true," Steve shot back with a stupid smile on his face.

"Damn right I do," Bucky declared, grabbing Steve's hip and pulling him closer

"Now don't get too big for your britches," Steve warned, but the look in his eyes made heat burn in Bucky’s gut. "I seem to remember teaching you a thing or two."

"You wish," Bucky said, challenging and playful.

"Yeah, I wish you'd get this started already," Steve complained in mock annoyance, tracing his hand up and down Bucky's chest.

" _Christ_ , you're mouthy," Bucky whispered, reaching up to grab Steve's chin. Steve grinned wickedly and Bucky's thumb traveled to Steve's bottom lip, pulling it until Steve's mouth opened. There was a distinct fire in their eyes and Steve's tongue darted out to lick the tip of Bucky's thumb.

Bucky traced his finger over Steve's wet lip, desire clawing at the base of his spine. Before Steve could think of any more smart remarks, he surged forward and pressed their lips together.

******

A breeze rolled through and tickled Bucky’s skin where he lay naked by the fire. He watched the goosebumps appear on his legs as he stretched his tired muscles.

Their time together had succeeded in melting the ice from their earlier disagreement and Bucky was feeling spent and happy. Steve lay tucked into Bucky’s right arm with his head pillowed on Bucky’s chest. His hair moved in the breeze and tickled Bucky’s nose. Their legs were tangled together and Steve was leaving soft, lingering kisses where his head rested, and Bucky had never been so happy in his life.

He really couldn’t be blamed for what came next.

The idea formed to life in his head then, growing and taking shape into something Bucky couldn’t shake.

“Steve,” he murmured, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve hummed in response, not even bothering to raise his head.

Bucky took a breath. “Come live with me.”

Several seconds passed with nothing. Then:

"What?" It was quiet and gentle with a touch of surprise.

There was no going back now. 

"Come live with me. On my ranch."

Finally, Steve lifted his head and turned to look at Bucky, his face heavy and serious.

"What are you talking about?"

“At the end of the drive.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m serious, Steve,” Bucky insisted.

Steve rose from Bucky’s chest and sat up fully to look at the man below him. “I know you are, that’s why I think you’ve lost it.”

“Come live with me.”

“What, and be your farmhand?”

“You’re better with the animals anyhow, why don’t you just do it?” Bucky asked with a small smile, using whatever he could to get into that thick skull.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve been a farmhand before, Buck, I told you I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Bucky sighed. “I don’t need you to run my farm, Steve. I want you to live with me. I want to be with you.” There it was. If there was any uncertainty about what he was asking before, it had surely vanished now.

Steve stood up with a huff, grabbing his underwear and pulling them on. He stalked to the edge of camp and grabbed his bag, rummaging around until he found a pair of pants.

“Why’s it so crazy, huh? We can work together, live together. We can _be_ together.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Steve said, shaking his head as he buttoned his pants.

“I do. I want you, Steve.” Bucky looked Steve in the eye as he said it and watched Steve’s face soften ever so slightly before hardening again, into a cold and distant expression.

Bucky grabbed his underwear and threw on his pants. He sat on the stump behind him, facing Steve, rubbing his hand up and down his leg nervously. Steve grabbed a shirt and struggled to button it close. He cursed.

“I got a life, ya know.”

Bucky’s breath left him in an instant. “And you can make a life with me. We can make one together.”

“I’m engaged,” Steve declared, finally turning to look at Bucky. “Did you forget about that?”

“To woman you don’t even love!”

Steve shook his head before standing up and pacing from one end of camp to the other.

Bucky sat watching him, pleading with everything he had for Steve to understand. “This could work,” he said, in an exceptionally small voice.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

Steve chuckled darkly. “You’re delusional, Bucky Barnes.”

Anger flashed hot and bright in Bucky’s eyes. “Why? I’ve never been more happy than here on this drive. Why shouldn’t it be this way?”

“That’s not the reason and you know it.”

“What’s the reason then?” Bucky demanded.

“You think anyone in the great state of Texas is gonna let two queers live together?” Steve sat on the log across from Bucky, insistent and unrelenting.

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“It’s against the law, for one.”

“Fuck the law,” Bucky said instantly, fire raging in his eyes.

“There you go again.” Steve threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. 

“When has Steve Rogers ever given a shit about the law?” Bucky demanded.

“When it would get me killed, that’s when.”

Something like fear shot through Bucky at the thought. “So you’ll be my farmhand. We don’t have to tell nobody what’s between us.”

Steve smiled sarcastically, but the sadness in his eyes was clear and present. “Wow, what an offer.”

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky tried to placate him, “it won’t really be like that.”

“It _has_ to be like that! Look, I know you’re new to this and all, but this isn’t how this works. We don’t get to prance around town together. We don’t get to be like them.”

Bucky was incensed at the condescension in Steve’s voice but he kept going, too focused on what he wanted. “Then we’ll be _better_ than them! We’ll have something better,” he pleaded.

“There’s no glory in what we do here, Buck!” Steve stood up again, and he was shouting now. “There’s no happy ending! It ain’t like someone’s gonna see how sweet we are on each other and let us make ourselves a nice little home. It don’t matter how much we love each other. And I know because I love you so goddamned much, Bucky Barnes. I love you so much I can’t breathe with it sometimes. And still it don’t change the truth. We can’t be together. It’s the way of the world.”

Steve was breathing heavily and his face was flushed red with anger and frustration and _fury_ at the world in which they lived. But he hadn’t changed Bucky’s mind.

“Who says we need glory, Steve? I don’t need honor or glory. I don’t need none of that. I just need you.”

And it was true.

He begged Steve with his eyes, with everything he had and Steve watched him with a clenched jaw, giving nothing away. After a moment, he took a ragged breath and sat next to Bucky by the fire. It was several moments before either of them said a word. Bucky felt raw and exposed and he almost felt shame for the way he had begged but he would never regret asking. Not when he knew that Steve felt the same.

He looked over at Steve, who sat staring into the fire. His mind was miles away and Bucky spent a moment watching the flames reflect off his eyes. He was struck by how beautiful this man was and the fact that this man _loved him._ Steve loved him. But Bucky didn’t know if that was enough.

“We can make it work,” Bucky said, so low it was almost a whisper. “It’s been done before. We can figure it out. Will you come?”

Steve spared him one glance out of the corner of his eye before settling things once and for all.

“No.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next two days were the worst of the entire trip. Steve’s head swam with emotions, overwhelming him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He never stopped thinking about what Bucky asked him, what Bucky said. That he loved him. Steve felt intensely guilty on several fronts and he spent most of each day riding and working with his mind miles away, so lost in his thoughts he couldn’t find his way back.

Bucky didn’t fare much better. He barely spoke to Steve and most conversations centered around the work they still needed to do. He was quiet and despondent but he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t ask Steve the question again, nor did he bring up anything to do with it. He didn’t berate Steve for the choice he made but he appeared to accept it, quietly and on his own terms.

Steve didn’t want the rest of the drive to be like this but he supposed he didn’t have much room to argue. He just wished Bucky had listened to him and enjoyed the time they had together without complicating things.

The days passed slowly and bled into the night and Steve didn’t know what to do with himself. The previous night, Bucky had gone to sleep on his own without a word, turning with his back to the fire and Steve had looked on forlornly. So tonight, he decided to get out his journal and try to pass the time.

He opened it and flipped to the end and his heart constricted tightly. The last few pages were filled to the brim with Bucky. His eyes, his lips, the curve of his wrist or the callous on his thumb. Any spare time Steve had over the past week that wasn’t spent wrapped up in Bucky, was spent committing him to memory in his journal. He had drawn the muscles of his back, the slope of his ass while he slept, every curl on his head. Seeing them now just made the hurt worse.

So he turned to an empty page, brought out his charcoal, and began to sketch. He started with a few flowers and plants until he got his footing, then moved to one of the horses. The steady scratch of charcoal on paper soothed his aching chest and allowed his mind to breathe free, if only for a moment. He got lost in it—in the creation of something new, in this exercise he had loved all his life.

Distantly, he heard Bucky walk over and sit by the fire. Steve was sitting with his back against an overturned tree and Bucky came to sit at the other end. Steve didn’t stop sketching but his mind had drifted, inevitably, to the man a few feet away.

Bucky sat quietly for several moments before asking, “What are you doing?”

Steve looked up, surprised at the question and the gentle tone of his voice.

“Drawing,” Steve said, “well, just sketching really.”

“Huh,” Bucky remarked. “I didn’t even know you did that.”

Steve shrugged and fiddled with his pencil. “I usually do it while you sleep.”

Bucky nodded and after a moment Steve didn’t know what to say so he got back to his drawing.

“Can I see?” Bucky asked, hesitant and nervous.

Steve was surprised and he typically had a rule against showing people his drawings but, without hesitating, he handed his journal over.

Bucky flipped through the pages slowly and reverently. His eyes roved over each page, taking in every detail and smiling now and then. Eventually, Steve couldn’t take not being able to see so he scooted over—close but not touching. Bucky said nothing.

He was looking at a sketch of the ranch Steve grew up on along with a horse he used to ride named Peanut.

“These are really good, Steve.”

Steve, despite himself, blushed and struggled to keep himself from arguing. “Thanks.”

Bucky came across a drawing of a woman, standing next to a window, bathed in sunlight. She was older, with a soft looking face and long, thick hair.

“My mother,” Steve told him.

Bucky stared at the page a moment longer with a small smile on his face. “She’s beautiful."

Bucky kept going, finding pages of flowers and rare plants, of the mountains in Wyoming, and the desert in New Mexico. He stopped when he got to a page filled with sketches of men—sketches of their hands in different positions, the hard line of a jaw or the curve of a backside. They were intimate portraits—clearly men that Steve had been with—and Steve watched Bucky’s face for any hints of anger or shock. But he didn’t find any.

Bucky traced a few of the sketches with his finger tips. “These are incredible.”

Steve could feel his face heating but didn’t say anything. He’d never shown these to anyone and in all the ways he thought about someone finding them, this was never how it went.

Bucky turned his head and a grin pulled at his mouth. “You ain’t half bad, Rogers.”

Something bright and warm bloomed in the center of his chest and he was indescribably thankful for Bucky and his stupid teasing.

“How kind of you,” Steve said sarcastically, but his smile was genuine.

Steve settled in next to Bucky as he continued to flip through the journal, scooting closer and closer until their shoulders brushed and Steve felt like he could finally breathe. He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, feeling the rough bark at his back, the rough dirt where he sat, the warmth of the man sitting next to him. He couldn’t decide how he felt about Bucky literally flipping through the pages of his life but it certainly wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Is this Sharon?” he heard Bucky ask.

Steve’s eyes opened and snapped to the journal. It was a portrait of a woman standing behind a bar. She was young and beautiful, her hair in perfectly placed curls and a smile on her face. Steve relaxed.

“No that’s Peggy,” he said, “she’s just a friend.”

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m guessing she works at a bar?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, running a hand through his beard, “at a place just south of here.”

“Unusual for a woman to be a bartender,” Bucky commented, still looking at the photo.

Steve chuckled. “It’d make sense if you knew her. No man would dare cross her.” Steve thought for a moment about his time at Coulson’s bar, his time as a young man and how much of his life he wanted to share with Bucky. He settled on all of it. “I actually proposed to her once.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You have a habit of that, don’t you?’

Steve laughed self consciously. “Suppose so.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face and preparing to embarrass himself once again. “We were good friends there for a while. I worked on a ranch nearby and the farmhands were no fun so I found myself at Coulson’s bar practically every night. Me and Peggy would get to talkin’. We’d talk politics, things going on in the town, other people at the bar.” Steve smiled as he remembered their long talks. “She was real nice to me and we had a great time together and I thought…” he looked up, trying to describe the way he felt. “I thought that’s what love was. That this was what everyone had been talking about. So I asked her to marry me.”

Bucky had watched him throughout the story; his eyes were focused and understanding, his face soft. “What’d she say?”

Steve laughed, enjoying this part of the story immensely. “She told me that’s what friendship was and that I was an idiot.”

Bucky smiled at the way Steve’s cheeks had flushed red and the way he ran a hand over his face in embarrassment.

“Then she told me to go find me a man that I liked,” Steve continued with a shake of his head and a grin.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “That’s surprising.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugged, “I found out later that she had been dating one of the waitresses the entire time, so.”

Bucky looked shocked, but one side of his lips pulled up in a crooked grin. “What happened to them?”

Steve shrugged. He hadn’t thought of them or that story in years. “Not sure. I reckon they’re still there.”

“Huh.” Bucky stared at him but his gaze was unfocused. “Maybe you should listen to Peggy more often,” he joked.

Steve chuckled but his mind began to run. He told himself that he had listened to Peggy and taken her advice, but he hadn’t. He was marrying Sharon. But that wasn’t the same thing, was it? He was marrying her because she needed someone. Because he needed to settle down. That was different. Right?

Peggy’s words echoed in his mind. _That’s not love, darling. That’s an agreement._ Well so what if it was? Steve needed someone, a place of his own, something to build for himself. That was enough, right?

He glanced at Bucky, who had returned to the journal. He flipped through each page carefully, like he was admiring something precious. To him, Steve realized, he was. He took time to notice each and every sketch, even the dumb doodles. And it made Steve’s heart somersault in his chest.

Steve’s heart had started to race but just as he began to panic, Bucky reached a hand over to rest on Steve’s knee. It was light and casual and he never even looked away from the journal—like it was second nature. The book lay open in Bucky’s lap on a particularly detailed drawing, and his fingers traced little circles on Steve’s knee. If Bucky noticed Steve’s internal distress he made no indication of it. His focus stayed on the journal and Steve’s drawings and Steve relaxed into the ground.

“Oh,” he heard Bucky say, and Steve knew which page he had found. In a small voice Bucky asked, “is that—?”

“Yeah,” Steve said gruffly, “it’s you.”

The page was filled with small and large sketches of every part of Bucky’s body. The delicately drawn wrists and biceps could’ve belonged to anyone—though Steve would recognize them anywhere—but it was the drawing of his eyes that gave it away. Light grey and piercing, staring straight ahead.

Bucky seemed surprised to find such a page—and even more surprised to find three more—and his cheeks had started to flush pink. Steve grew nervous.

“Is that…okay? I can stop,” he suggested hesitantly.

“No, it’s…” Bucky took a breath. “It’s fine. I like them.”

Steve let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and went back to admiring the pictures of the man next to him. There was something so intimate—so vulnerable and raw—about drawing someone’s body. The attention paid to each bone in the wrist, to each line of muscle, to the exact shape of a nipple or swell of an ass, spoke to a deeper connection between artist and subject and it was precious to behold. Steve’s heart thrummed in his chest just by looking.

“You know,” Bucky started, quiet and unsure, “I could sit for you sometime. Be your model. If you want.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. No one had ever done that for him. “I would love that.”

“And if you’re gonna draw me,” Bucky said, eyes blazing into Steve’s, “you should draw _all_ of me.”

*****

“Yeah, just like that,” Steve murmured, adjusting Bucky’s hip to the exact position he wanted.

By the time they had Bucky undressed and positioned for Steve, the fire had burned down to embers and night had fallen. Steve leaned back, observing the placement once again, nodded his approval and then went to stoke the fire. Bucky laid bare before the flames, leaning on his right arm, legs stretched out to the side, like an exquisitely beautiful ancient Greek statue.

Steve grabbed a log and sat in front of Bucky without disturbing the light from the fire. He looked into Bucky’s eyes, looking for hesitation or nervousness, but he found a small smile and the slightest nod. So he took a breath and got started.

The buildup of Bucky undressing and modeling for Steve—and really the thought alone—had made hot anticipation grow at the base of Steve’s spine. His body hummed just under the surface and his dick was already hard in his pants. He was sure he looked like some naive, inexperienced artist who couldn’t handle a nude model, so he renewed his focus, steadied his hand, and began to sketch.

He started a vague outline, looking from the page to the man in front of him. He used light lines to find the overall shape, the bend in his knees and the twist of his torso. Then he started shading to define the details of Bucky’s body—the hard line of each muscle in Bucky’s chest, the hard line of his jaw, and the shape of his cock, lying half hard against his thigh.

While he drew, Bucky’s eyes never left him. They pulled him in, distracted him from whatever area of the body he was focused on and made him make eye contact again. They were dark and penetrating, and a fire burned in Steve’s stomach. Steve ached to reach out and trace Bucky’s body with his fingers or tongue, to throw the paper to the ground and beg for Bucky’s touch. But he was desperate to finish this, to create physical proof of this moment.

He drew for what felt like hours, lining and shading the body of the man he loved so much, and he had never felt closer to a person in his life. He knew every inch, every shape, every detail of this man and he committed it all to memory. He would never forget this.

He wasn’t sure when the night shifted, wasn’t sure which look or glance it was that finally broke the ice but soon enough, Steve was perched atop Bucky, straddling his hips and taking him inside. They fucked for what felt like hours that night, holding onto each other as tight as they could, their mouths constantly meeting in open mouthed kisses, unable to separate even an inch.

It was invigorating and exhilarating and everything the two of them needed to finally move forward from the uneasiness from the previous day. In fact, the next few days were easy and enjoyable, and they felt to Steve like the beginning again. They were as close as two men could be, touching and kissing each other whenever they pleased and teasing each other like old friends.

They spent the rest of the cattle drive this way, keeping pace to arrive on time but riding easy, lingering behind the herd to talk. Steve knew he was often slow on the uptake but he felt like an idiot for just realizing how little he knew about the man he was so enraptured with. So he spent his days asking Bucky every question he could think of. They talked about his family, about the work he did on his parents’ farm, about his time spent with Colin. Steve wanted to know his favorite food, the books he liked best, his favorite position in bed. He felt like a starving man having just discovered sustenance—like no matter how much he learned, it would never be enough.

He thought Bucky might ruin it one day. They were resting under the shade of a magnolia tree, having just had lunch and a taste of each other, and Bucky said it again. “Come live with me.” It was like it forced its way out of him without his permission.

Steve looked at him sharply and his heart sank. “Buck…” he started, voice low and filled with warning, but before he could finish Bucky shook his head and cut him off.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t find any cornbread biscuits as good as mine,” he said in mock seriousness.

Steve could only stare at him. He didn’t know whether to laugh or question him but when Bucky broke into a small grin, Steve laughed, loud and heartily.

After that, it became commonplace.

Bucky would bring it up at the oddest of times.

They were bathing in a stream one day, watching each other with coy smiles and dark eyes.

“Come live with me.”

“No,” Steve said easily. He glanced at Bucky, wondering how this would go but Bucky played along.

“Why not?”

“‘Cos you stink to high heaven.”

Lying on their bed rolls next to the fire one night, after a long day of riding. “Come live with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve would say, a fake frown on his face.

“And why not?” Bucky would ask, grinning and holding back laughs in anticipation for Steve’s answer.

“You snore like a bull frog, Bucky Barnes. I’d never get a wink of sleep.”

Riding along behind the herd one afternoon as they meandered through the plains.

“Come live with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Bucky I have a secret,” Steve said, leaning over his horse toward Bucky conspiratorially.

Bucky mimicked him, excitement in his eyes. “What is it?”

“I’ve never lived indoors before,” he whisper-yelled. “I don’t even know how to use a fork and knife.”

Bucky almost fell off his horse for laughing so hard and Steve’s cheeks hurt from smiling at him.

Steve knew Bucky was serious and Bucky knew he wasn’t and it was enough for them. It calmed their anxious hearts and settled things between them, in perhaps the strangest way possible. Things softened between them, became more sure, and they looked at each other with more fondness and admiration than they ever had before.

And then it was the last day.

It was the last day and Bucky couldn’t breathe.

The next day they were set to arrive at the buyer’s ranch. They would deliver the cattle and be on their way—Bucky off to his new ranch and Steve back to Alpine to get married. And Bucky couldn’t breathe.

The past few days had been different, better than the entire drive and Bucky was desperate not to lose the closeness they shared. The thought that plagued him all day was the knowledge that he would travel to his new ranch, empty and alone, and he would never see Steve again. He wasn’t sure how to handle that.

His father was going to help get things started at his new place, but that was hardly enough to distract himself from what he would be missing. He spent the day thinking about what Steve would look like in his tux at the wedding while he slept in his bed alone. He knew he was milking his misery but he had no idea how to stop it.

So when Steve tried to joke with him that night after dinner, he couldn’t do it. It was eating him up inside and he couldn’t muster enough to make things easy for them.

All he could do was burrow close to Steve where they lay by the fire, press his face into Steve’s neck and breathe in the smell of him. They dragged each other close—so close that they began to pull at each other’s clothes, undressing one another with firm grips and desperate touches. They kissed, wet and frenzied, until their lips were red and raw.

Their movements were familiar now, but no less exhilarating. When Bucky finally got Steve undressed, when the hard planes of his chest were on display and he lay next to him naked and exposed, Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off. He ran his hands down thick thighs—soft to the touch but hard as stone beneath the surface—and around his pert little ass. Bucky laid back on the bed roll, gripped Steve’s hips, and pulled, just slightly, until Steve got the message. He sat up and swung a leg over Bucky’s hips and settled down.

Steve’s lips were swollen red and his hair tousled and messy. Bucky reached up to card his hand through it, getting a full view of every inch of this man and committing it to memory. Steve was breathing hard, Bucky having worked him up quickly, and his chest rose and fell in bursts of air. His cock was fattening up where is rested against Bucky’s stomach and he pushed his hips forward in tiny, desperate little thrusts. Bucky grabbed the slick where he had stashed it next to him and handed it to Steve.

“Go on,” he said darkly, “open yourself up. I want to watch.”

Steve gasped and rocked forward again. He grabbed the bottle and his hand soon disappeared behind him. Bucky watched with bated breath and an open mouth as Steve slid a finger inside and shuddered at the feeling. His cock was fully hard now and it jutted out proudly onto Bucky’s chest. Steve fucked himself back onto his fingers until he was opened up good and proper. “There you go,” Bucky whispered, and he struggled to stop himself from thrusting up.

Eventually Steve began to whine, twisting his arm to use more of his fingers, and Bucky took mercy on him. He stilled Steve’s hips with a touch of his hand and whispered, “come here.” Steve pulled out of himself and fell forward, resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and neck. Bucky felt the lube on his neck and he leaned up to grab Steve in a kiss, more tongue than anything else.

Bucky stroked himself a few times, slicking himself up and watching as Steve sat up taller, positioning himself closer to Bucky’s cock.

“Come on,” Bucky whispered raggedly, “sit down, sweetheart.”

Steve’s face pinched in a look of agony at Bucky’s words but he grabbed Bucky’s cock and lined himself up immediately. He lowered himself achingly slowly onto Bucky’s cock and Bucky watched as Steve’s rim gripped him tightly, swallowing him up inch by inch. The feeling of heat surrounded him so entirely that he was practically panting now, trying to hold himself back and keep himself from spilling into Steve immediately.

Steve’s mouth hung open with pleasure and he leaned forward again, resting most of his weight on Bucky’s chest. “Buck,” he said, broken and ragged.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed out. “There you go.”

Steve started to move then, arching his hips in little thrusts, forward and back, terrorizing Bucky with the slow slide of his ass. Bucky kept his hand wrapped around Steve’s hip and guided his movements until Steve was moving properly, fucking himself on Bucky’s cock, taking everything he needed.

A groan fell from Bucky’s lips as he watched Steve take him in, watched his cock as it bobbed lewdly against Bucky’s chest. It was achingly hard, precome leaking from the red tip. So Bucky reached up and clasped his hand around Steve’s cock, allowing Steve to fuck his cock into Bucky’s fist as he moved. Steve moaned at the sensation, picking up his speed and looking at Bucky, wild and desperate.

Bucky watched him as he moved, bathed in moonlight and the glow of the fire, his hips thrusting in rhythmic motions, his incredible physique on display, but more than anything, the look in his eyes and the way that he whispered Bucky’s name.

It hit him suddenly and forcefully—less of a feeling and more of a knowing—that Steve was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And he knew right then that he would never forget this moment.

So he surged up into a sitting position, startling Steve in the process. He held onto the base of Steve’s ass and situated him on Bucky’s lap with his legs wrapped around Bucky’s hips. Steve instantly wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and plastered his face into the side of Bucky’s neck, moaning as Bucky sunk even deeper in the new position.

Bucky thrust up into Steve as much as he could and Steve met him at every thrust, creating a slap each time. Their movements became more frenzied, chasing their release and the connection they felt between them. Bucky’s arm wrapped around Steve’s body and he held him as close as he possibly could. He leaned up to kiss the man he loved and Steve kissed him frantically in return.

Bucky was starting to lose himself, not only physically inside of Steve, but in the moment. Thoughts of the next day, of their fight, of the past three weeks flooded his mind and he whimpered.

“ _Please_ , Steve,” he croaked, clutching Steve’s cheek in his hand. “It can be like this all the time. You can be mine.”

Steve shuddered above him, still rising and falling with his thrusts, and he dropped his head until his lips met Bucky’s in an open mouthed kiss. “I’m already yours,” he whispered brokenly and Bucky’s heart ruptured where it lay in his chest.

Bucky whimpered again and this time he couldn’t hold back. He began thrusting in earnest, pulling Steve close again so that his cock brushed against Bucky’s stomach, spreading precome all over him. Bucky ached to reach down and take a taste but Steve was moaning now, broken but insistent. Bucky thrust hard, holding onto Steve’s shoulder for more leverage. Steve gripped Bucky’s neck tightly, looking into his eyes with their foreheads pressed together. He moved as best he could, short, broken thrusts in a frantic, dizzying motion.

“Come for me,” Bucky begged him in a whisper. “Let me see.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open and after a few more thrusts of his cock against Bucky’s chest, he came, painting Bucky’s body with his release. Bucky did what he had been longing to do and traced a finger through Steve’s come before bringing it to his lips and sucking, and Steve whined as he shuddered with aftershocks. He quickly renewed his rhythm, feeling surrounded and completely wrapped up in Steve. It didn’t take many more thrusts for Bucky to come, looking into Steve’s eyes, holding onto his neck, and thinking _I love you, I love you, I love you_ over and over again.

Afterward, they held each other as they came down. Their breaths were heavy and ragged where they breathed into each other’s necks, the smell of sweat filling their heads. Bucky didn’t let go, even after they had both settled down. His cock was soft inside Steve and he didn’t want to move. Steve was leaving soft, delicate kisses from the top of Bucky’s jaw to the bottom of his neck and there were tears—small and unshed but there nonetheless—in Bucky’s eyes.

He finally released Steve from his grip and they dressed before curling around each other on a bed roll next to the fire. Bucky hugged the curve of Steve’s body, burying his face into the back of Steve’s neck, nuzzling the hair there and breathing in the smell of him. There was nothing to say. There was nothing else he could do.

He had done what he could to convince Steve and it hadn’t worked. All he could do was savor these last moments and pretend that maybe tomorrow would never come.

————

The ride through Abilene was shorter and less eventful than Bucky thought was right. The buyer’s ranch was several miles outside of town, so the boys took the herd in a long arch around the county. Bucky expected some kind of acknowledgement from the universe for what was about to happen—for time to slow down or at least pause right in the middle of the day to give his brain time to catch up to reality, to give him a few more moments with Steve. But it never came. They rode in silence like it was any other day, and Bucky’s insides continued to tie themselves in knots like stubborn string you couldn’t get right. 

Steve had that dark, pensive look on his face that Bucky knew he couldn’t crack so he decided not to try.

The man was nice enough. His ranch hands helped Steve and Bucky corral the cattle into the correct pens and took their horses to the stables to rest. The rancher took his time inspecting the herd—checking the tag on each cow, looking them over for any injuries or abnormalities—so Steve and Bucky stood leaning against the bars of the pen, resting their tired muscles and avoiding each other’s eyes. When the man was finally satisfied, he passed them their payment for a job well done and they shouldered their packs and went on their way.

They walked together to the train station and Bucky figured they would finally say something to each other, finally give in to the nerves that wracked Bucky’s insides and were clear on Steve’s face, but they never did. They walked in silence through the heat of mid-day, hats tilted low on their faces, looking anywhere but into the other man’s eyes.

Bucky bought his train ticket—to the small town south of Abilene where he would meet up with his father and drive out to his uncle’s ranch—and waited for Steve to buy his. He stood near the counter, hands in his pockets, facing away but angling his body to try and hear where Steve would go. He felt like a child—too scared to ask but absolutely desperate to know. Steve had made himself clear and he knew that, but it didn’t stop his foolish heart from hoping.

The sounds of a bustling train station filled his ears and prevented him from hearing the soft-spoken station attendant confirm Steve’s ticket, so he could only stand there—helpless and waiting. Eventually Steve turned, picked up his pack where it rested at his feet, sent Bucky one long and steady glance, and walked towards the trains.

Bucky followed, of course. He pushed through the throngs of people, ignoring their dirty looks or shouts of annoyance, keeping his eyes trained on the broad shoulders and the honey-brown hair in front of him. A train thundered into the station, all screaming steam and clamoring cars, and Bucky pushed ahead. His legs ached and the smell of coal burned in his nose and he tried to blink away the tears forming in his eyes.

“ _Steve_!”

Steve stopped at the entrance of the train car and didn’t move for an achingly long moment. He was frozen where he stood and Bucky didn’t say anything—didn’t know what he would say even if his mouth could get the words out.

Finally, _finally,_ Steve turned and looked Bucky in the eye. His eyes were shining with unshed tears but his jaw was set and his expression was hard and unforgiving.

Bucky started to say something and stopped several times, breathing hard, eyes pleading with the man in front of him. Steve stared at him, waiting.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked, in a small and insistent voice.

Steve looked at him and his expression didn’t change. “Goodbye, Buck.”

Bucky stared after him as he stepped from the platform onto the train, walking away like it was never even a question.

He was sure.

————

**_Three Months Later_ **

Bucky shivered as he threw on his thick jacket and grabbed the bucket of feed. He stepped into his well-worn boots and left the house, scattering feed as he made it to the chicken coop. He was happy with how they were adjusting to their new home, taking to the farm like they were meant to be there. They escaped their coop regularly and annoyed the shit out of Bucky most days but he was just pleased to have something of his own.

He gazed out into the horizon and breathed in the sweet smell of the cool November day. His ranch sat in the middle of the great plains, surrounded by good land and blanketed by the never ending sky above it. Bucky liked to sit on his porch in the evenings with a cup of coffee and watch the sun set, forever mesmerized by the way the clouds and colors shifted. They were morphing into a dark grey at the moment and a sharp smell was in the air—indication of the winter storm on its way, so Bucky set out to finish his chores.

Setting up the ranch—creating a home and a place for himself—had gone fairly well so far. His father helped get things up and running but he had been on his own for a couple months now and Bucky was enjoying it. The cattle his uncle left him were in good shape and he was able to buy a horse with the money made from the cattle drive. He spent his days working before the sun came up and not resting until after it set.

He’d had a few setbacks, of course. He had to repair several miles of fencing but didn’t notice it needed repairing until several members of his herd had escaped. His attempt to plant some fall crops had ended miserably after an early frost but his mother assured him she would send over enough food for the winter.

Bucky thought he had taken quite well to living on his own. He missed the noise and company of his sisters but he savored the peace and quiet. In the beginning, he spent most evenings sitting in the soft, worn arm chair in the living room, reading by the light of an oil lamp. He would stay there until he couldn’t hold his eyes open and then stumble to the lumpy old mattress in his bedroom. He would lie in bed, watching the moon from his window and he wouldn’t think about Steve at all. Not even for a moment.

After several weeks, he decided the house needed a litany of repairs, and this proved to be an efficient distraction from the dark and lonesome nights. Not that he needed a distraction, of course. He was fine. But the leaking roof took several days and more than one trip into town to fix, and the floors were an absolute pain to replace, and he fell asleep easily those nights, blissfully tired from the work. And he didn’t think about Steve at all.

After a month, Bucky bought a dog—a sweet border collie named Tess who was way too smart for her own good—and the long suffering looks she gave Bucky as he talked to her throughout the day made him smile and worked to patch a little bit of the hole in his chest. He was _fine._

He didn’t think about Steve or the cattle drive or the way he subconsciously built his home for two. He didn’t think about Steve as he rounded the cattle or saddled his horse or sat by the fire in his cold and quiet living room. He certainly didn’t dream about Steve, about his sharp blue eyes or the way it felt when his calloused hand held Bucky’s cheek. He didn’t wake, cold and alone and aching from the inside out.

Bucky worked quickly to move the horse into the stable and prepare the rest of the farm for the coming storm. He latched the gates, brought some firewood inside, and checked on the chickens. As he was rounding the house, picking up a bag of feed to take to the barn he saw a truck at the end of the road.

Bucky lived pretty far outside of town so he didn’t get many visitors. He had a long, dirt driveway leading from his house to the only road that came anywhere near the ranch. The truck sat idling at the top of the driveway. After a few excruciatingly long moments, a man stepped out of the cab of the truck. It was too far to make anything out but he was tall and broad. He reached into the bed and grabbed two bags before turning and facing the farm. Bucky stared, completely frozen where he stood, and he watched, curious and terribly hopeful.

The truck drove away and the man began to walk down the driveway. Bucky begged his beating heart not to get his hopes up, but it was fruitless. The man walked closer and Bucky knew. Of course he knew. He took a few hesitant steps forward and then, suddenly, he could see Steve’s face. Every inch of that stubborn, beautiful face. And Steve looked back, face open, eyes filled with hope. He held a bag in each hand, looked at Bucky, and shrugged, and Bucky’s breath left him in a desperate laugh.

And then he was running, sprinting as hard as he could, his feet smacking the dirt, his lungs burning. His heart was beating out of his chest and then was there—tangled in Steve’s arms, circled in an embrace that lived only in his dreams and all he could say was, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over and over.

Steve’s face pressed into Bucky’s neck and he pulled him as close as their bodies would allow. “I couldn’t do it,” he gasped out, pulling back to look into Bucky’s eyes and Bucky knew he was talking about the wedding.

“It’s alright,” Bucky said in a rush, gripping the side of Steve’s face.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“It’s okay.”

Steve took a ragged breath and Bucky pressed their foreheads together.

“I got your letter,” Steve whispered and when Bucky looked at him he was grinning. Bucky breathed roughly and gripped Steve by the neck, unable to find the words to say. So Steve said them for him.

“I love you,” he said finally, and Bucky’s face crumpled. He pulled Steve in by the cheek and pressed their lips together.

————

Years later—decades later, in fact—at the estate sale of the Barnes-Rogers ranch in the middle of Texas, a small piece of paper was found tucked away in a nightstand drawer. It was old and worn, yellowing at the edges. It was ripped in some places and the ink was slightly smudged but what was still legible read:

_Dear Steve,_

_I know you’ll be tempted, but don’t hate me for this. This is not to convince you to join me. I’ve tried my damnedest but even I know when to admit defeat. You’ve made your choice and I’m going to respect it._

_I want you to know I don’t regret a single moment from the past three weeks. I won’t take back the things I said, the things we did, or the way I loved you. I’ll carry them with me in place of you._

_I hope I see you again some day. Running a place of your own, with a wife by your side and a kid at your feet. I do wish that for you. But it’s hard to imagine. In my head you exist here, out on the trail. To me you are the feeling of freedom I feel on the plains. The soothing relief of a cool breeze. The thrill in my chest as I ride. You are the peace I feel at every sunset and the hopefulness at every sunrise. It’s hard to imagine you out in the real world because it’s hard to imagine you with anyone but me._

_I admire you, Steve Rogers, every bit of you._

_I want you to know that the option is always open. If you want._

_You know where to find me._

_Love, Bucky_


End file.
